The Pale Dance

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 14:43:08 -

The Pale Dance

The ink bleeds. Black. Wet. Alive. It soaks into the skin. Not the paper. The skin. You hold your hand up. Palm out. The letters are there. *Run.* No. *Stay.* It changes. The ink breathes. You are twelve. The war is here. Not bombs. Not fire. Silence. A heavy, gray silence. It sits in the halls of the Palace. The old stone. The cold air. You are not a king. You are a shadow. A boy in a suit too...

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