The Pale Altar

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2026-08-22 05:58:02 -

The Pale Altar

14th November, 1893 The air in the atrium tastes of copper and rotting lilies, a scent that clings to the back of the throat like a lie. I stand before the Council of the Imperial Conservatory, my hands trembling not from the cold, but from the effort of holding back the cough that has become my second heartbeat. I have come to present my thesis on the *Aethelgard* vine, a plant that thrives...

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