The Pale Altar

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2026-08-23 13:12:49 -

The Pale Altar

The flour sack was heavy, a white ghost against the dark stone of the cellar, and I felt the weight of it in my wrists before I even touched it. Thomas stood behind me, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the way I peeled back the burlap. He did not speak. He never spoke when the blood was involved, as if the silence were a kind of prayer, or perhaps a kind of shame. My mother, the Pale...

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