The Pale Altar

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2026-08-20 04:17:58 -

The Pale Altar

The air in the workshop of Silas Vane did not smell of wood shavings or varnish, as the townsfolk of Oakhaven might have expected, but rather of a heavy, metallic tang that clung to the back of the throat like the memory of a copper penny held too long against the tongue, a scent that seemed to seep from the very pores of the ancient oak table where his hands, stained with a mixture of walnut...

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