The Pale Altar

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2026-08-24 11:55:18 -

The Pale Altar

14 March 1998 I held the brass key to the study in my palm, the metal cold against the sweat of my fingers, and watched the reflection in the window pane distort my face into something gaunt and unfamiliar. The oak tree in the front garden stood pale against the grey sky, its bark stripped by the winter wind, looking less like a living thing and more like a bone exposed by the earth. I needed...

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