The Pale Dance

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 02:06:59 -

The Pale Dance

The rain tasted of rust. It fell in heavy, cold sheets against the tin roof of the guardhouse, a relentless drumming that masked the world outside. Silas woke with a gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He was not in the guardhouse. He was in the Dream. The fog was thick. It clung to the cobblestones of the street, swallowing the gaslights whole. Silas stood at the...

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