The Distant Machine
The rain had not stopped for nine days, a ceaseless, grey weeping that turned the soil of the valley into a thick, sucking clay which held the shapes of those who had passed through it, and it was in the third hour of this relentless downpour, while the sky above the sanatorium hung low and heavy with the weight of unspoken sins, that Elias Thorne felt the first true tremor of the end. He sat...
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