The Distant Promise
The banquet hall of the Blackwood Mill was not a place for feasting, but for the slow, suffocating digestion of lives, a cavernous expanse of soot-stained brick and iron where the air hung heavy with the scent of wet wool, cheap tobacco, and the metallic tang of impending rain. It was a celebration, or so the ledger claimed, for the completion of the new filtration system, a marvel of...
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