The Pale Altar

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2026-08-21 09:56:23 -

The Pale Altar

The rain fell in sheets. Gray. Cold. It slicked the cobblestones of the Old Quarter. Elias stood by the door. He held the bag. It was heavy. It smelled of copper and salt. He looked at his wife. Martha. She did not look back. She packed her trunk. A small one. Blue. She hummed. A tuneless sound. "Are you ready?" she asked. "Ready," Elias said. His voice was dry. He looked at the bag again. The...

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