The Pale Altar

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2026-08-20 03:08:56 -

The Pale Altar

The clock was not ticking. It was bleeding. Marcus watched the pendulum swing. It moved with a heavy, wet slowness, like a limb dragged through deep water. The brass face of the great hall clock was tarnished, a dull greenish-brown that seemed to absorb the light from the chandeliers above. It did not reflect. It swallowed. "You are late," said the Duke. Marcus wiped his hands on his apron. The...

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