The Pale Altar

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2026-08-24 01:44:30 -

The Pale Altar

The heavy crystal goblet in Elias Thorne’s hand was cold, the frost from the ice already melting into a thin ring of condensation that dripped onto his white cuff, and he held it there, suspended in the air, as if the weight of the glass might anchor him to the floor of the banquet hall in Aethelgard. The room was a cacophony of clinking silver and low, murmured voices, a sea of velvet and silk...

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