The Pale Dance

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 00:28:06 -

The Pale Dance

The sword in my hand was cold. It was a block of iron so heavy it seemed to drag my soul down into the earth with every swing. I swung again. The air in the Hall of Mirrors did not move. It was still. It was thick. It smelled of dust and old wax and the metallic tang of fear. I was not fighting a man. I was fighting the reflection. The figure in the glass had no face. It was a silhouette of...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews