The Pale Altar

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2026-08-18 19:31:38 -

The Pale Altar

The feast hall of the Abbey of Saint Clement smelled of roasting lamb and wet wool, a thick, cloying perfume that seemed to coat the back of the throat, a physical weight that pressed against the sternum. Father Elias sat at the high table, his hands folded in his lap, watching the steam rise from the tureens of broth in slow, rhythmic curls that danced like spirits just before they are caught....

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