The Pale Altar

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2026-08-22 05:49:36 -

The Pale Altar

The laboratory smelled of sulfur and stale tea, a sharp, acrid tang that coated the back of Margaret Holloway’s throat as she adjusted the brass calipers on the crystalline object resting on the velvet pad. She was thirty years old, a court alchemist of modest renown, and for the past six months, her life had narrowed to the width of this single artifact, the Pale Altar. It was not a stone, nor...

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