The Pale Circus
The candle guttering on the oak table before you sheds a light so thin it seems less like illumination and more like a wound in the darkness, casting long, trembling shadows that dance against the damp stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a scribe exiled from the royal court for a forgery you did not commit, and in this cold, ink-stained archive, you...
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