The Pale Altar

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2026-08-19 01:27:36 -

The Pale Altar

The train did not run on tracks. It ran on a thin ribbon of white mist that hung suspended over a chasm so deep the bottom was a rumor. Margaret held her handkerchief against her nose, the fabric damp with the scent of ozone and old blood. The air inside the carriage was thick, tasting of copper and rust, and the windows were not glass but polished mirrors that showed no reflection of the...

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