The Pale Dance

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2026-08-19 04:46:44 -

The Pale Dance

The frost came down like a curtain of white ash, sealing the windows of the stone hall before you could even finish your prayer. You are the Warden, a man whose skin has long since turned the color of old parchment, and the cold that creeps into your marrow is not merely of the season. It is of the rot. It is the sickness that has eaten through the walls of your body until you feel no different...

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