The Distant Joke

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2026-08-18 09:46:39 -

The Distant Joke

The fog did not merely settle upon the ironworks; it inhabited the very lattice of the girders, a thick, grey miasma that tasted of sulfur and old blood, wrapping the sprawling industrial complex in a shroud that felt less like weather and more like a living, breathing entity that had grown tired of the sun. I stood at the edge of the catwalk, my hand resting on the cold, riveted steel, feeling...

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