The Pale Dance

σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature

2026-08-19 07:06:24 -

The Pale Dance

The ink was black. It smelled of iron and old rain. I held the quill. My hand did not shake. Not anymore. The parchment was white. It was too white. It stared back at me, a void waiting to be filled. I was the Warden. I was the judge. I was the executioner. And I was my father’s son. We stood in the Hall of Whispers. The air was thin. It tasted of salt. The walls were stone. They wept. Water...

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