The Pale Altar

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2026-08-21 14:52:22 -

The Pale Altar

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pork and wet wool. It was a heavy, suffocating scent, thick enough to chew. Margaret sat at the end of the long oak table, her hands folded in her lap. She watched the steam rise from the tureen in the center. The other guests were loud. They laughed. They slammed their glasses. They spoke of the new rail lines and the falling prices of coal. They did not...

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