The Pale Bridge
The dream is a corridor of white stone, slick with rain that does not fall from a sky, for there is no sky, only a vaulted darkness breathing above you. You are walking, but your feet do not touch the ground; they hover an inch above the wet flagstones, leaving no footprint. This is how it begins, in the sleepless hours before dawn, when the dampness of the castle walls seeps into your marrow....
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