The Pale Altar
The banquet hall of St. Jude’s was a cathedral of glass and steel, humming with the low, electric thrum of modern ambition. You stood by the window, your reflection a pale ghost superimposed over the city’s glittering sprawl, holding a wine glass that felt heavier than it had a moment ago. The air smelled of expensive perfume, roasted duck, and the faint, metallic tang of ozone from the storm...
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