The Pale Altar
The candlelight in the Dean’s office did not so much illuminate the room as it exposed the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air, a silent witness to the dismissal that was taking place. You stood before the heavy oak desk, your hands trembling slightly around the pale alabaster altar stone, the only tangible proof of your years of diligent, if uncelebrated, work. Elias Vane, forty-two, junior...
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