The Pale Dance

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 12:04:27 -

The Pale Dance

I woke to the smell of wet iron. It hung heavy in the air, thick as wool, clinging to the back of my throat. The room was dark. A single pane of glass, cracked down the middle, let in a sliver of moonlight. It cut a pale line across the floorboards. I did not move. I knew better. Movement brought attention. Attention brought pain. I was not a man, though I wore the shape of one. I was something...

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