The Pale Altar

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 01:57:41 -

The Pale Altar

You are lying on your back, the plaster dust in your nostrils, the dream still clinging to your skin like wet wool. The walls were bleeding. Not metaphorically. The mortar wept a thick, rusty fluid that pooled on the floorboards of your small chambers, sliding under the door with a slow, viscous hiss. You wake with the taste of iron in your mouth. It is Tuesday. Friday is three days away. If...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews