The Pale Circus

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 21:54:28 -

The Pale Circus

The fork in my hand scraped the silver platter, a thin, high-pitched sound that cut through the low hum of the banquet hall. I was thirty years old, a clerk at the municipal registry, and I was trying to eat a piece of roast duck while the air grew thick with the scent of wax candles and damp wool. Clara sat across from me, her eyes bright with a fever that had nothing to do with the heat of...

0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews