The Pale Dance

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2026-08-19 07:24:44 -

The Pale Dance

The iron gate of the Abbey of St. Jude groaned against the morning frost, a sound like a bone breaking beneath a heavy boot. I stood before it, my hands bound in rough hemp that bit into the skin of my wrists, feeling the cold seep through the wool of my prisoner’s tunic. Behind me, the road from the city was empty, the mist hanging low and thick over the fields, erasing the world I had left in...

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