The Pale Altar
The sky split open with a sound like tearing canvas. Not thunder. A snap. Elias stood in the mud. His boots were heavy. He looked up. The clouds were black. They moved wrong. They did not drift. They hung. They pulsed. He felt a pull. In his chest. A hook. He knew what it was. He had read about it. In the old books. The ones that smelled of dust and rot. He was a detective. He solved things. He...
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