The Pale Altar

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 02:19:11 -

The Pale Altar

The broth was thick, the color of old blood, and it smelled of iron and rot. I sat at the edge of the table, my hands trembling so violently that the spoon clattered against the porcelain bowl with a sound like a small, broken bone. My father, Silas, watched me from the other side. He did not eat. He never ate anymore. His face was a map of the hunger he had survived, etched in lines so deep...

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