The Pale Altar

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2026-08-19 02:49:12 -

The Pale Altar

The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Correctional Industrial Complex smelled of roasted turkey and stale fear, a cloying mixture that clung to the wool of the staff uniforms and settled in the back of the throat like a dry cough. It was the annual Harvest Gala, a tradition so entrenched in the institution’s rotting bones that even the newly appointed Warden, a man named Mr. Silas Thorne whose...

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