The Pale Altar
The letter in your hand is dated three days ago, but the ink is still wet, glistening like a bruise on the parchment. You are Elias, twelve years old, and you are a junior archivist in the Pale City, a place where the sun does not set so much as it drains, leaving the shadows detached and hungry. Your wife, Mara, is dying, not of sickness, but of absence; her shadow has begun to fray,...
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