The Pale Dance
The road to the Abbey of St. Jude’s is a ribbon of red clay that turns to mud when the rain breaks, and it is this mud that clings to the hem of your grey cloak as you walk. You have been walking for three days. The sun is a pale, watery disc behind a ceiling of low-hanging clouds, offering no warmth, only a faint, sickly light that makes the world look washed out. You carry a wooden bowl in...
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