The Pale Altar

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2026-08-17 19:21:45 -

The Pale Altar

The air in the Ministry of Civic Conduct smelled of wet wool and old ink. It was a smell that clung to the skin, a tangible weight that pressed against the lungs with every breath. I stood before the Oak Panel, my hands folded tightly in the lapels of my tweed coat, feeling the rough texture of the fabric against my palms. My brother, Silas, was sitting in the chair across from me. He did not...

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