The Pale Altar

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2026-08-19 16:07:11 -

The Pale Altar

The gavel cracked. It did not sound like justice. It sounded like a dry twig snapping under a heavy boot. I stood. My knees shook. They were not shaking from fear. They were shaking from the cold. The air in the hall was thin. It smelled of dust and old paper. It smelled of the iron filings in the machines we built. I held the box. It was small. It was made of tin. It was dented. "Sit down, Mr....

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