The Pale Altar

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2026-08-20 05:20:33 -

The Pale Altar

The coffee in the mug was cold. It had been sitting there since the morning shift began, a dark, stagnant pool in the ceramic vessel. I stared at it. The surface was still. There was no steam. There was no warmth. Just the bitter residue of time passing in a room that did not care if I existed. "You’re staring at the cup again, Arthur," said Mrs. Gable. She did not look up from her ledger. The...

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