The Pale Altar

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 19:55:36 -

The Pale Altar

I dreamed of a door that would not open. It was painted the same beige as the walls of the office. It had no handle. I pressed my palm against the wood. It was warm. It pulsed like a vein. I tried harder. The wood did not yield. It simply absorbed my pressure, my sweat, the heat of my frustration. I woke with my hand still clenched, a phantom door in my fingers. My name is Clara. I am...

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