The Pale Dance

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 18:02:13 -

The Pale Dance

The wind howled through the eaves. It sounded like a beast. Or a ghost. I did not know. I stood in the dark. My hands trembled. They were always cold. I am a cobbler. I fix shoes. I mend soles. I patch heels. But tonight, I made a cage. It was for a bird. No, not a bird. For my father’s spirit. He was dead. Three days dead. The grave was fresh. The dirt was black. It smelled of rot. And rain. I...

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