The Pale Dance

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2026-08-17 14:54:57 -

The Pale Dance

The wind did not blow. It scoured. Mara stood at the edge of the cliff, her hand resting on the cold iron of her staff. It was a heavy thing, forged from the ribs of a storm that had broken against these rocks a century before. The metal was dark, pitted, and rough. It bit into her palm. She did not pull it away. The pain was a constant, low hum, a reminder that she was still flesh and not yet...

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