The Pale Altar

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2026-08-22 21:33:23 -

The Pale Altar

The ink was black, but my hands were red. I held the quill steady over the parchment, the tip trembling not from age, but from the cold that seeped up through the stone floor of the cellar. Above me, the town of Oakhaven rang its bells. They rang for a victory, for a cleansing, for the end of the plague that had gnawed at our bones for three months. I did not look up. I had work to do. I needed...

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