The Pale Banner
The banquet hall of St. Jude’s Seminary smells of roasted lamb and stale incense, a thick, cloying mixture that settles into the wool of your coat and clings to the back of your throat like a second skin. You sit at the long oak table, your hands folded over a porcelain plate that is already cooling, the gravy congealing into a pale, gelatinous disc that reflects the chandelier above with a...
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