The Pale Dance
The oak tree in the courtyard did not fall. It did not rot, nor did it succumb to the rot that gnawed at the foundations of the keep. It stood there, a silent, green pillar of endurance, shedding its leaves in a perpetual, silent autumn that never quite reached the ground. It was the only thing in Lord Aldric’s domain that had not changed, even as the world around it twisted into a mirror of...
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