The Distant Machine
Maren wrote the letter by candlelight. The wax smelled of beeswax and old smoke. It was a cold night. The wind clawed at the shutters. Inside, the room was warm. Maren’s hands shook. She held the quill tight. The ink was black as a raven’s eye. She wrote to Elara. Elara lived in the town below the hill. They had been friends since childhood. Their bond was primal. It was older than words. It...
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