The Pale Dance

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 10:59:27 -

The Pale Dance

The road to Oakhaven was a ribbon of mud and gravel that seemed to stretch infinitely into the grey October fog, the tires of my truck spinning uselessly against the wet clay. I was forty years old, and the only thing I had left from my father’s empire was this rusted cab, a ledger full of red ink, and a single, ancient oak tree that the town insisted was more than just wood. My father had died...

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