The Distant Garden

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2026-08-18 15:17:47 -

The hydraulic press groaned, a low, tectonic sound that vibrated through the soles of my boots and up into my spine. I was not supposed to be here. I was not supposed to be anyone. But the machinery did not care for the nuances of my identity, only for the pressure differential between the piston and the steel plate. I adjusted the torque on the master valve, my fingers slick with grease and...

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