The Pale Altar

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2026-08-19 17:06:38 -

The Pale Altar

The boiler room of the Whitmore Ironworks was not a place that invited reflection, yet for young Arthur Pendelton, it had become the sole sanctuary of his waking hours, a subterranean cathedral of soot and steam where the rhythm of the pistons provided a metronome for his increasingly erratic thoughts. It was the year 1912, and the air inside the factory smelled perpetually of rust, coal dust,...

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