The Pale Altar

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 19:45:36 -

The Pale Altar

The dream smelled of wet wool and old stone. Silas woke. The air in the vault was cold. It bit his lungs. He was the Inquisitor. Or so the title claimed. He sat on a stone bench. The chains on his wrists were heavy. They were not real chains. He knew this. He knew this because he could wiggle his fingers. The weight was in his mind. The weight was in the fear. Across the room, a fire burned. It...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews