The Pale Altar
The sky did not break open; it simply ceased to be, dissolving into a bruised and swollen violet that hung low over the valley of the Hollows like a bruise on the face of the earth, a wound that had festered for centuries and finally burst under the weight of its own unspoken grief, turning the air thick with the scent of ozone and rotting lilies, that sickly sweet perfume which had always...
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