The Pale Dance

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2026-08-22 17:47:12 -

The Pale Dance

The wine was red, thick as arterial blood, and it stained the rim of Elias Thorne’s goblet. He stood at the center of the oak table in the Great Hall of Oakhaven, his hands trembling not from the chill of the stone floor but from a desperate, instinctual hunger to be seen. Around him, the Guild of Scribes feasted, their laughter a low, rhythmic drumming that vibrated in his chest. Elias felt a...

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