The Pale Altar
The rain had been falling for three days, turning the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick, dark mirrors that reflected the grey sky and the weary faces of those who walked them. You carried the satchel across your chest, the leather strap biting into your shoulder, a dull ache that had become part of your rhythm. Inside, wrapped in oilcloth, was the bundle. It was not gold, nor jewels,...
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