The Distant Machine
The brass casing of the chronometric regulator, a device of such exquisite, soulless precision that it seemed less a tool of timekeeping and more an artifact of some forgotten, mechanical deity, sat upon the scarred oak workbench in the center of the room, its intricate gears still turning in a silent, hypnotic rhythm that I could feel in the marrow of my bones, a vibration that had ceased to...
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