The Pale Altar

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2026-08-22 17:01:30 -

The Pale Altar

The spores taste of iron and old rain. I scrape them from the cellar wall with a silver spoon, my hand steady despite the tremor in my knees. I am Elias, forty-two, and I am the only man in Ashworth who knows how to stop the wasting. The town calls me a witch. They do not know that I am merely a man who listens to what the dead have to say, and they do not know that I am about to save their...

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