The Pale Altar
The banquet hall of St. Jude’s Academy for the Gifted was a cathedral of excess, draped in taffeta that mimicked the heavy, suffocating clouds of a London winter, and at the center of it all, you stood on a pedestal of your own making, a monument to a hunger that could never be sated by the silver platters of roasted pheasant and glazed ham that circled endlessly around the floor. The air was...
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