The Pale Altar
The first thing you notice is the silence, a heavy, woolen silence that presses against your eardrums and muffles the world outside into a vague, indistinct hum. You are standing in the nave of the Chapel of St. Jude, a place that feels less like a building and more like a held breath, suspended in amber. The air is thick with the scent of old wax and dried lavender, a preservative scent that...
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