The Pale Altar

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2026-08-20 09:50:42 -

The Pale Altar

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and stale wine. It was a thick, cloying scent that settled in the throat like dust. I sat at the far end of the long oak table, my hands folded in my lap. My father sat at the head. He was a large man, his shoulders blocking the light from the chandeliers above. He did not look at me. He looked at the plate in front of him. He cut the meat with a...

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