The Pale Altar

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2026-08-18 12:13:40 -

The Pale Altar

The rain fell in sheets. It was the kind of rain that erases footprints. I walked the gravel path. The stones were slick. My boots slipped. I did not fall. I am old. I know how to walk. The Abbey loomed ahead. It is stone. It is grey. It is alive. Or perhaps it is dead. I cannot tell anymore. The ivy chokes the windows. The bells do not ring. They are silent. They have been silent for years. I...

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