The Pale Dance

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 09:53:15 -

The Pale Dance

The ink smelled of iron and old blood. I held the quill steady, my hand trembling only slightly as I traced the final glyph on the parchment. It was a simple shape, a spiral descending into a void, but the Magister’s eyes had never left the page when I presented my work. He did not trust the commoners who ground the pigments. He did not trust the hands that mixed them. I was twelve, the...

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