The Faded Frequency
The fog rolled in off the harbor, thick and gray, smelling of brine and old coal. It swallowed the streets of Blackwater, turning the gas lamps into dim, yellow eyes blinking in the dark. Arthur sat on the edge of his bed, the wooden slats creaking under his weight. He was not a man. Or rather, he was not entirely one. He was a thing made of static and sorrow, a creature born from the wires and...
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