The Pale Altar
The dream was not a dream of flight, nor of falling, but of a door that opened onto a wall, a pale, unyielding expanse of stone that breathed with the cold dampness of the cellar where the books lay, and in that breathless moment, before the waking fully reclaimed his senses, he saw her, not as a woman of flesh and bone but as a smudge of grey mist hovering just above the floorboards, a ghost...
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