The Pale Circus

added blog Literature

2026-08-25 10:34:13 -

The Pale Circus

I remember the taste of rot before I remember the pain. It was a coppery, wet thing, like biting into a bruised apple left too long in the rain. The mist on the terrace was so thick it felt like breathing in wet wool. I was fighting the smuggler, a boy no older than sixteen, his hands slick with the condensation that clings to the glass of the dome city. He had a knife. I had my duty. My hands...

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