The Pale Altar

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2026-08-20 23:24:44 -

The Pale Altar

The gavel struck. It sounded like a bone snapping. I flinched. My left hand, the one with the scar, twitched in my lap. The judge looked down. He did not see me. He saw the file. He saw the charge. "Ms. Whitmore," he said. His voice was dry. Like dust. "Do you plead?" I opened my mouth. No sound came out. My throat was tight. A knot of iron. I thought of the river. The cold water. The silence...

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