The Pale Altar

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 17:37:40 -

The Pale Altar

The feast was a wound in the dark. You sat at the head of the table, though you were not the lord. You were the tailor. But tonight, the cloth was king. The air in the great hall of Blackwood Manor smelled of roasted boar, stale wine, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. You did not eat. You watched. Your hands lay flat on the oak, pale as the linen you had just cut. It was a wedding. Or a...

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