The Pale Altar

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2026-08-18 09:34:09 -

The Pale Altar

The rain did not fall. It pressed. A grey, heavy hand against the glass. Thomas stood. He waited. The door was heavy. Oak. Iron-bound. He pushed. It opened. The hall was empty. Cold stone. Dust. The air tasted of metal. Old blood. Or rust. He walked in. His boots made no sound. The floor was soft. Moss? No. Ash. Fine, white ash. It covered everything. The chairs. The tables. The floor. He...

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