The Pale Dance

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2026-08-20 11:51:09 -

The Pale Dance

The ink bled into the parchment. It was a deep, bruised purple. Margaret watched the letter form under her husband’s hand. It was a command. It was a death sentence. Edward did not look up. His quill scratched like a rat against wood. The room smelled of stale wax and the metallic tang of the war outside the window. They were in the keep of Ashworth Hall. It was no longer a home. It was a...

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