The Pale Altar
The road to the Abbey of St. Cuthbert was a ribbon of mud that wound through the grey, rain-slicked hills, and Aldous Vane walked it with the heavy, deliberate pace of a man who carried not just his own burden but the accumulated weight of every doubt that had ever been whispered in the back of a room where he was not supposed to hear, his boots sinking into the soft earth with a squelch that...
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