The Pale Altar

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 19:29:38 -

The Pale Altar

The bread was white. Too white. It sat on the wooden table, a slab of silence. I cut it. The knife dragged. The crust cracked. Inside, it was pale. Porcelain. Dead. I looked at my hands. They were red. "Master," the boy said. He stood in the doorway. Rain slicked his hair. "The river is high." I did not look up. I cut another slice. "Is it?" I asked. "Yes. The mud is rising. It eats the banks....

0 Comments 0 Shares 11 Views 0 Reviews