The Pale Altar

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2026-08-17 13:11:33 -

The Pale Altar

The scalpel did not so much cut as it whispered, a thin, silver line of silence slicing through the ambient hum of the operating theater, where the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the metallic, coppery tang of fear that always preceded the final incision. Margaret Holloway stood at the apex of the surgical triangle, her white coat immaculate, her eyes fixed not on the patient’s...

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