The Pale Circus
Act I Marcel Sabatier, forty years old and a mine surveyor’s assistant, sat in the loft under the tin roof where the summer heat pressed against the plaster like a wet hand. He was not a bard, though the Council of Whispers had once called him that in their ledgers, and he was not in a circus, though the old quarry they called the Amphitheater stood in the lavender fields just beyond the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews