The Pale Dance

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2026-08-19 09:35:14 -

The Pale Dance

The dream began with the smell of wet wool and the sound of a clock ticking in a room that had no walls. I was seven years old, though my bones felt heavy as stone, and I was standing in the center of the great hall of our house, a place of shadows and dust motes dancing in the pale light that seeped through the high, narrow windows. My father was not there. He was always there, or so I...

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