The Pale Dance

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2026-08-18 05:32:23 -

The Pale Dance

The great hall of the Whitmore estate was not merely a room but a cavern of stone and shadow, where the air hung heavy with the scent of roasted boar, beeswax, and the faint, cloying sweetness of spilled wine that had been left to ferment in the corner buckets. You stood at the edge of the dais, your fingers tracing the cold, rough grain of the oak banister, feeling the vibration of the lute...

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