The Pale Altar

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 01:11:41 -

The Pale Altar

The ink was cold. It sat in the well of the quill, a dark, viscous pool that smelled of iron and old rain. I was twelve years old, and I wanted to pass the final examination at St. Jude’s Orphanage. The scholarship would take me out. It would take me to the city, to the mills, to a life where I could save enough to find Elara. She was not here. She was a memory I carried like a stone in my...

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