The Pale Altar

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 21:28:26 -

The Pale Altar

The feast was a wound in the dark. Candles guttered. Smoke curled. The air tasted of wax and old fear. Thomas sat. He was small. He was quiet. He had come far. He had come here to die. Or so he thought. The hall was stone. The walls wept. Moss grew in the cracks. It was a castle. It was a dream. It was neither. It was the place between. The King sat high. The King was old. The King had no...

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