The Pale Dance

adicionou um novo artigo Literature

2026-08-20 00:15:50 -

The Pale Dance

The feast was a roar. Candles guttered. Beeswax dripped. The air thick with smoke. Silas stood. He held the wheel. It was oak. Dark grain. Smooth. He had made it. Three winters. The hall was full. Lords sat. Servants stood. Laughter echoed off stone. Silas did not laugh. He watched the wheel. It was perfect. Or so he thought. "You made this?" The voice was low. A woman sat nearby. Her eyes were...

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