The Pale Altar
The feast was a monument to excess, a sprawling affair of roasted boar and honeyed figs that sat heavy in the gut like iron weights, and I watched from the edge of the tapestry-draped hall where the oil lamps flickered with a sickly, yellow pulse, illuminating the faces of the judges who believed themselves the architects of order. They were men of stone, these arbiters of the realm, their...
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