The Pale Altar
The candlelight in the Abbey of St. Jude did not flicker so much as it suffocated, a pale, trembling thing against the oppressive dark of the nave where Brother Thomas, a novice of only thirty-two years and a heart heavy with a desperate, illicit ambition, clutched a stolen vial of consecrated wine to his chest as if it were a lover’s cold hand. He was not a man of miracles, nor did he believe...
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