The Pale Altar

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2026-08-25 12:52:57 -

The Pale Altar

Bernardino Barros remembered the weight of the sealed confession not as paper, but as a stone in his chest, a burden he had carried from the coaching inn on the wet road toward Lisbon, where the cypress swamps turned the tea-colored water into a mirror of his own exhaustion. He was thirty years old, a sergeant of the coastal guard, and he marched with the steady, heavy step of a man who had...

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