The Pale Altar

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2026-08-22 22:03:28 -

The Pale Altar

The glass vial in your hand trembles, a slight, rhythmic shudder that matches the erratic pulse of the patient lying on the gurney. You are Elias Thorne, a junior apothecary at St. Jude Industrial Hospital, and it is the winter of 1904. The air in the ward smells of carbolic acid and wet wool, a scent that has seeped into the fibers of your coat and the pores of your skin over the last three...

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