The Pale Dance

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 07:44:16 -

The Pale Dance

I dreamt of the collar. It was white. Not the white of snow. Not the white of bone. The white of old linen. Washed until it sang. I woke in the dark. The air was cold. I reached for the thing. My hand found the hem. The fabric was rough. It bit my palm. I pulled it up. It covered my face. The world went soft. The world went blind. I am not a man. Or perhaps I am. It is hard to say. The shape is...

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