The Distant Summer
You are walking. The boots are heavy, filled with the wet mud of the road, but you do not stop. You cannot stop. If you stop, the thing in your hand will change. It is already changing. The engine of the carriage ahead coughs, a mechanical groan that vibrates through the dirt under your feet. You look up. The dust rises in a brown cloud, blinding and thick. Inside the carriage, the glass is...
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