The Pale Dance

أضاف وظيفة جديدة Literature

2026-08-19 05:48:54 -

The Pale Dance

I feel the crack in my left hand. It is a thin line. Like a fissure in porcelain. It runs from the thumb to the wrist. It pulses. Cold. I look at it. The skin is unbroken. But the bone beneath screams. I am a seer. I am a tool. The Council calls me a machine. They do not see the pain. They only want the numbers. The names. The dates of death. I live in the glass house. The air is thin. It...

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