The Pale Altar
Act I "You can't go in there, Esther. The stones know your blood is bad."‌​⁠⁠‌‌‌​​‌‌​‍‌⁠⁠⁠​⁠​‍⁠⁠⁠​‌​​​​​​​​​​​​​​‌⁠​​‌​‍⁠‍⁠‌‍‍‍‍​⁠​‌⁠‍‍‌​​⁠​‌‌‍​⁠‍‍ Father Malloy stood in the doorway, his clerical collar stained with rust, his face a map of the dry wind that cracked the clay of our border town. I was thirty-two, my hands raw from the hydroponic trays, the quota for the week already missed...
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