The Faded Paradox
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight pressing against the windows of the old textile mill. I stood in the center of the great floor, surrounded by the smell of ozone and burnt cotton, watching the beams above me groan under the stress of a heat that had no source. I am not human, or at least, I have not been for a very long time. I...
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