The Distant Machine
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, gray sheet that turned the cobblestones of the palace grounds into a slick, dark mirror. I sat in the corner of the high-ceilinged library, my back against the cold stone, watching the water streak down the leaded glass. It was a sound like static, like the hum of a machine that never stopped, never rested, never died. I had come here to...
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