The Pale Altar
Act I Heinrich Klein’s hands were already slick with the grease of the repair quota when the cold draft hit his neck, freezing the ink in his pen to a black, jagged spike. He was at twenty-three of Candlewick Row, a narrow strip of the colony where the walls were shared by two households and the damp seeped through the plaster like a slow, grey rot. The object in his lap was a shard of...
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