The Pale Altar

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2026-08-17 19:22:59 -

The Pale Altar

The air in the crypt was cold. It tasted of iron. It tasted of old blood. Margaret stood by the stone. Her hands were bare. Her skin was pale. The light was dim. The light was grey. She held the mirror. It was small. It was round. The glass was dark. The glass was deep. It was a mirror of obsidian. It was a mirror of night. It held no reflection. Not yet. It waited. It watched. The doors were...

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