The Pale Dance
The ledger weighed three pounds, four ounces, and a lifetime of silence. Elara Holloway sat at the oak table in the attic, the candle flame steady but trembling at the edges, casting long, jagged shadows against the slanted roof beams. She was nineteen, with hands stained permanently amber from the oak-gall ink she mixed every morning, a smell that clung to her skin like a second, invisible...
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