The Pale Altar
The champagne was warm. It had been sitting on the ice for too long, or perhaps the air in the boardroom was simply too thick with the scent of expensive cologne and stale ambition. You watched the bubbles rise in your glass, a frantic, microscopic ascent, and you thought about how they looked like the veins in the leaves of the ivy that grew against the side of the building. Green. Alive....
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