The letter lay on the stone table. It was written in ink that had faded to the color of old blood.

Eleanor read it. Her hands were cold. The wind off the moor bit at her fingers. She did not shiver. She only stared.

Who had written this?

The script was hers.

She looked up. The room was empty. The candle had burned low. The wax pooled like a tear.

She had not written this.

Or had she?

Memory is a treacherous thing. It lies to protect us. It tells us what we wish to have happened. It erases the moments we cannot bear to keep.

Eleanor was the village healer. She knew the herbs. She knew the bones. She knew how to pull a life back from the brink. But she did not know how to pull a soul back from the dark.

She had come to the village of Oakhaven three years ago. She was old then. Older than she looked. Her hair was white as the lichen on the rocks. Her eyes were grey as the morning fog.

The villagers trusted her. They brought their sick to her door. They left baskets of eggs and bread. They whispered prayers over her name.

But they also whispered other things.

They said she was a witch. They said she dealt with the Devil. They said she took their children’s breath while they slept.

Eleanor said nothing. She listened. She nodded. She poured the tea. She held the hand of the dying.

She loved them. That was the truth. She loved them with a ferocity that frightened her. It was a destructive love. It consumed her. It left her hollow.

She wanted to save them all. She wanted to stop the time. She wanted to keep the sun from setting.

But the sun always sets.

The letter on the table.

She read it again.

*My dearest Eleanor,*

*You are not the healer. You are the disease.*

*You have taken too much. You have given too little. You have let them die so that you could feel the pulse of life in their veins. You are a parasite. You are a leech.*

*The machine is stopping. You are the fault.*

*Goodbye.*

The signature was a scrawl. It looked like a bird in flight.

Eleanor set the letter down. Her heart was a stone in her chest.

She walked to the window. The village was asleep. The smoke from the chimneys rose in thin, gray ribbons. The stars were sharp. They looked like needles.

She thought of Thomas. Thomas Bradshaw. He had been her lover. He had been the only one who understood her. He had seen the darkness in her eyes and he had not looked away.

He had died last winter. The fever took him. She had held his hand. She had watched his face change. She had felt the life leave him, drop by drop, like water from a cracked cup.

She had not been able to save him.

That was the betrayal.

Not his betrayal. Hers.

She had tried. She had used every herb. She had spoken every word. She had burned the incense. She had prayed to every god she knew.

But he died.

And in his dying, he had looked at her. His eyes were clear. They were full of accusation.

He had not said anything. He did not need to.

She had taken his love and used it. She had fed on his warmth to keep her own cold self alive. She had let him die so that she could remain.

The letter was a mirror. It showed her what she was.

She was the machine that ate itself.

She turned back to the table. The candle was nearly out. The shadow of the room stretched long and thin.

She picked up the pen.

She dipped it in the ink.

She wrote.

*My dearest self,*

*You are right. I am the disease. I have let them die. I have let you die. I am tired. I am so tired.*

*The machine is stopping. I will let it stop.*

She did not sign it. She did not need to.

She folded the letter. She put it in her pocket.

She walked out of the house.

The night was cold. The air smelled of wet earth and woodsmoke.

She walked to the edge of the village. The moor was black. The grass whispered in the wind.

She sat on a rock. She looked at the sky.

The stars were watching. They were indifferent. They did not care if she lived or died. They only shone.

She thought of the herbs. The lavender. The rosemary. The thyme. They smelled of the earth. They smelled of life.

But life was a thief. It took everything. It left nothing.

She thought of the village. The children. The old men. The women. They were all part of the machine. They were all fuel.

She had tried to stop the machine. She had tried to keep the wheel turning. But the wheel was broken.

It was time to let go.

She closed her eyes.

She felt the wind on her face. It was cold. It was clean.

She breathed in.

She breathed out.

The letter in her pocket felt heavy. It weighed down her heart.

She took it out. She looked at it.

The words were still there.

*You are the disease.*

She tore the letter in half.

The paper fluttered to the ground.

The wind caught it. It carried it away.

She did not watch it go.

She stayed on the rock.

The sun began to rise.

The light was pale. It was weak.

It touched her face.

She felt nothing.

She was the machine.

She was the fuel.

She was the ash.

And the ash did not care.

The village woke up.

The doors opened.

The people stepped out into the cold morning.

They looked for Eleanor.

They did not see her.

They went about their day.

They did not know that the machine had stopped.

They did not know that the healer was gone.

They only knew that the sun was up.

They only knew that the day had begun.

They did not know that the day was over.

They did not know that the night had taken her.

They did not know that she had chosen to die.

They did not know that she had chosen to let go.

They did not know that she had been the disease.

They did not know that she had been the cure.

They did not know that the two were the same.

They did not know that the machine was them.

They did not know that they were all part of the same broken wheel.

They did not know that the wheel was turning.

They did not know that the wheel would never stop.

They did not know that they were all dying.

They did not know that they were all alive.

They did not know the difference.

The sun got higher.

The light got brighter.

The shadows got shorter.

The people went about their day.

They did not look at the sky.

They did not look at the ground.

They did not look at each other.

They only looked forward.

They only looked ahead.

They did not know where they were going.

They did not know where they had been.

They did not know who they were.

They only knew that they were here.

They only knew that they were now.

They only knew that the day was theirs.

They did not know that the day was a lie.

They did not know that the night was the truth.

They did not know that the machine was real.

They did not know that the machine was hungry.

They did not know that the machine was full.

They did not know that the machine was empty.

They did not know that the machine was stopping.

They did not know that the machine was already stopped.

They did not know that the machine was them.

They did not know that they were the machine.

They did not know that they were the fuel.

They did not know that they were the ash.

They did not know that they were the fire.

They did not know that they were the cold.

They did not know that they were the light.

They did not know that they were the dark.

They did not know that they were the life.

They did not know that they were the death.

They did not know that they were the same.

They did not know that the difference did not matter.

They did not know that the machine did not care.

They did not know that the machine was indifferent.

They did not know that the machine was eternal.

They did not know that the machine was temporary.

They did not know that the machine was everything.

They did not know that the machine was nothing.

They did not know that the machine was them.

They did not know that they were the machine.

They did not know that the machine was stopping.

They did not know that the machine had stopped.

They did not know that the machine was over.

They did not know that the machine was done.

They did not know that the machine was finished.

They did not know that the machine was dead.

They did not know that the machine was alive.

They did not know that the machine was both.

They did not know that the machine was neither.

They did not know that the machine was real.

They did not know that the machine was false.

They did not know that the machine was true.

They did not know that the machine was a lie.

They did not know that the machine was a dream.

They did not know that the machine was a memory.

They did not know that the machine was a story.

They did not know that the machine was a word.

They did not know that the machine was a sound.

They did not know that the machine was a silence.

They did not know that the machine was a breath.

They did not know that the machine was a heartbeat.

They did not know that the machine was a pulse.

They did not know that the machine was a life.

They did not know that the machine was a death.

They did not know that the machine was a choice.

They did not know that the machine was a fate.

They did not know that the machine was a destiny.

They did not know that the machine was a will.

They did not know that the machine was a spirit.

They did not know that the machine was a soul.

They did not know that the machine was a god.

They did not know that the machine was a devil.

They did not know that the machine was a man.

They did not know that the machine was a woman.

They did not know that the machine was a child.

They did not know that the machine was an old person.

They did not know that the machine was a stranger.

They did not know that the machine was a friend.

They did not know that the machine was a lover.

They did not know that the machine was an enemy.

They did not know that the machine was a healer.

They did not know that the machine was a disease.

They did not know that the machine was a cure.

They did not know that the machine was a poison.

They did not know that the machine was a food.

They did not know that the machine was a drink.

They did not know that the machine was a fire.

They did not know that the machine was a water.

They did not know that the machine was a earth.

They did not know that the machine was a air.

They did not know that the machine was a stone.

They did not know that the machine was a wood.

They did not know that the machine was a metal.

They did not know that the machine was a glass.

They did not know that the machine was a cloth.

They did not know that the machine was a thread.

They did not know that the machine was a needle.

They did not know that the machine was a thread.

They did not know that the machine was a knot.

They did not know that the machine was a tie.

They did not know that the machine was a release.

They did not know that the machine was a hold.

They did not know that the machine was a grip.

They did not know that the machine was a slack.

They did not know that the machine was a tension.

They did not know that the machine was a rest.

They did not know that the machine was a work.

They did not know that the machine was a play.

They did not know that the machine was a sport.

They did not know that the machine was a game.

They did not know that the machine was a battle.

They did not know that the machine was a war.

They did not know that the machine was a peace.

They did not know that the machine was a love.

They did not know that the machine was a hate.

They did not know that the machine was a fear.

They did not know that the machine was a hope.

They did not know that the machine was a joy.

They did not know that the machine was a sorrow.

They did not know that the machine was a pain.

They did not know that the machine was a pleasure.

They did not know that the machine was a sin.

They did not know that the machine was a virtue.

They did not know that the machine was a crime.

They did not know that the machine was a punishment.

They did not know that the machine was a reward.

They did not know that the machine was a gift.

They did not know that the machine was a curse.

They did not know that the machine was a blessing.

They did not know that the machine was a prayer.

They did not know that the machine was a plea.

They did not know that the machine was a cry.

They did not know that the machine was a song.

They did not know that the machine was a dance.

They did not know that the machine was a walk.

They did not know that the machine was a run.

They did not know that the machine was a flight.

They did not know that the machine was a fall.

They did not know that the machine was a rise.

They did not know that the machine was a sink.

They did not know that the machine was a float.

They did not know that the machine was a dive.

They did not know that the machine was a swim.

They did not know that the machine was a crawl.

They did not know that the machine was a climb.

They did not know that the machine was a jump.

They did not know that the machine was a leap.

They did not know that the machine was a bound.

They did not know that the machine was a skip.

They did not know that the machine was a hop.

They did not know that the machine was a step.

They did not know that the machine was a stride.

They did not know that the machine was a march.

They did not know that the machine was a parade.

They did not know that the machine was a procession.

They did not know that the machine was a crowd.

They did not know that the machine was a mob.

They did not know that the machine was a group.

They did not know that the machine was a set.

They did not know that the machine was a batch.

They did not know that the machine was a lot.

They did not know that the machine was a heap.

They did not know that the machine was a pile.

They did not know that the machine was a stack.

They did not know that the machine was a row.

They did not know that the machine was a line.

They did not know that the machine was a column.

They did not know that the machine was a pillar.

They did not know that the machine was a beam.

They did not know that the machine was a bar.

They did not know that the machine was a rod.

They did not know that the machine was a stick.

They did not know that the machine was a branch.

They did not know that the machine was a twig.

They did not know that the machine was a leaf.

They did not know that the machine was a flower.

They did not know that the machine was a fruit.

They did not know that the machine was a seed.

They did not know that the machine was a root.

They did not know that the machine was a stem.

They did not know that the machine was a vine.

They did not know that the machine was a weed.

They did not know that the machine was a grass.

They did not know that the machine was a moss.

They did not know that the machine was a lichen.

They did not know that the machine was a fungus.

They did not know that the machine was a mold.

They did not know that the machine was a yeast.

They did not know that the machine was a bacteria.

They did not know that the machine was a virus.

They did not know that the machine was a cell.

They did not know that the machine was a tissue.

They did not know that the machine was an organ.

They did not know that the machine was a body.

They did not know that the machine was a person.

They did not know that the machine was a human.

They did not know that the machine was a being.

They did not know that the machine was a creature.

They did not know that the machine was a thing.

They did not know that the machine was a self.

They did not know that the machine was an other.

They did not know that the machine was a us.

They did not know that the machine was a them.

They did not know that the machine is now.