The Pale Altar
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that blurred the windowpanes of the St. Jude’s Home for the Aged and Infirmed, a place where the air tasted of boiled linen, damp wool, and the faint, cloying sweetness of decay that seemed to settle into the very wallpaper, a wallpaper that was peeling now, curling back from the walls like dead skin to reveal the bare, weeping...
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