The Pale Dance

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2026-08-18 04:23:45 -

The Pale Dance

The dream was white. Not the white of snow, or paper, or bone. It was a sterile, aggressive brightness that hummed against the back of my eyes. I stood in a hall that stretched forever, the floor a seamless sheet of polished marble. There were no walls. Only light. I was seven years old. I knew this because I could feel the weight of my own smallness, the specific gravity of childhood. I was...

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