The Pale Altar

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-21 16:52:57 -

The Pale Altar

The bell rang. It was the hour for confession. I sat on the cold stone bench. The wood was wet. My hands were wet. I watched the water drip. It fell into the grate. The sound was small. It was a heavy sound. The air smelled of wax and old blood. I am a scribe. I know the weight of ink. I know the bite of the quill. I know the smell of rot. But here, in the crypt, the smell was different. It was...

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