The Distant Machine
The ink was still wet, glistening like a bruise on the parchment, when Lord Aldric Vane first remembered the sound of the shattering. It was not a dream, precisely, for the cold damp of the dungeon floor seeped through the wool of his doublet with a physicality that dreams rarely possess, yet the memory of the glass falling from his hand in the solar, weeks prior, had returned with the clarity...
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