The Pale Dance

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2026-08-19 13:17:46 -

The Pale Dance

The hall was thick with the scent of roasted goose and stale ale, the air so heavy with smoke and breath that it felt less like atmosphere and more like a solid substance one had to push through. Thomas Bradshaw stood by the long table, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword he did not yet own, watching the villagers eat. They were loud, a chaotic chorus of clinking cups and raucous laughter,...

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