The Pale Dance
The bell rang. It was a high, thin sound. It cut the air like a knife. Elias dropped his pen. Ink splattered across the parchment. A black star. It spread. It died. He looked up. The room was dark. Only the candle burned. It flickered. It trembled. The walls were stone. Cold. Wet. They pressed in. The stone was old. Older than the church. Older than the town. It had been here before the first...
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