The Pale Altar

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2026-08-20 07:36:18 -

The Pale Altar

The cellar smelled of wet stone and the metallic tang of old pennies. Thomas sat on the cold floor, his back pressed against the rough brickwork, and listened to the silence above. It was a heavy, expectant silence, the kind that gathers in rooms where someone has just left and the air has not yet decided what to do with the absence. He was nine years old, or perhaps ten, time had become a...

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