The Pale Altar
Act I Ylva Forsberg remembered the weight of the commission before she remembered the pain in her hands. It was a royal order, the kind that could lift a man from the mud of the archipelago to the sunlit floors of the court, and she had promised the mill owner, Herr Sten, that the crimson would be perfect. The deadline was three days away, and the soot in the air tasted of iron and burnt sugar....
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