The Pale Altar
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, grey sheet that turned the gravel drive into a slurry of mud and broken leaves, and Elias Thorne stood at the threshold of the house, his coat heavy with water, watching his brother Julian arrange the shards of the Pale Altar on the long oak table in the study with the meticulous care of a jeweler setting stones. The object, once a massive...
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