The Pale Dance

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 01:52:04 -

The Pale Dance

The wind in the Borders did not blow so much as it tore, a relentless, invisible hand stripping the last of the color from the heather and driving it into the marrow of my bones. I was thirty-four years old, and I felt ancient, a relic of a self I had spent the last two years trying to burn away, yet the fire had only left ash and a hollow, aching cavity where my heart used to be. My...

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