The Pale Altar

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2026-08-21 17:58:34 -

The Pale Altar

The morning mist clung to the heath like a burial shroud, damp and grey, swallowing the stones that marked the boundary of the old manor. Elias Thorne walked with a stooped spine, his fingers tracing the rough bark of the rowan trees that lined the path to the chapel. He was a man who had spent forty years cataloguing the decay of things, a scholar of natural history who had traded the vibrant...

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