The Pale Altar
The steam from the boiler room was not merely hot; it was a physical entity, a dense, sulfurous beast that pressed against my chest cavity with the weight of a collapsed lung, tasting of iron and old rain as I hauled the final valve into alignment with a wrench that had worn down to the shape of my own thumb. I was the new engineer at the Ashworth Mill, a position I had secured not through...
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