The Pale Altar
The city of Oakhaven did not fall to fire, nor to the plague, nor to the hunger that had gnawed at its stones for three winters, but to the weight of a single, unspoken word that had been carved into the very foundation of its cathedral, a word so heavy and so white that it seemed to bleed light into the perpetual twilight of the streets. I, Thomas Bradshaw, stood in the shadow of the great...
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