The Pale Altar
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the world outside the window into a blurred smear of gray and slate. You sat at the edge of the cot, the dampness of the room seeping into your bones, a cold that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the rot within. In your left hand, you held the small, leather-bound journal. It was the only object in the room that...
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