The Pale Altar

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2026-08-22 02:31:36 -

The Pale Altar

The rain falls on the city not as water but as a static charge, a high-frequency hum that vibrates in the marrow of your bones and dissolves the boundary between the wet asphalt and the dry, aching void inside your chest, leaving you standing in the center of the intersection at four in the morning where the streetlights buzz with the desperate, insect-like persistence of trapped flies,...

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