The Pale Altar
The candle flickered. Thomas wiped his hands. He looked at the stone. It was cold. It was old. It was waiting. He sat on the floor. The floor was hard. He heard a knock. Three times. Soft. He did not move. He knew who it was. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was necessary. The cell was small. The walls were damp. The air smelled of mold. It smelled of fear. It smelled of him. Thomas was a...
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