The Distant Machine
The letter was found folded into a square so small it fit inside the hollow of a broken thimble, tucked beneath the floorboards of the attic where the air smelled of damp wool and forgotten winters. It was written on paper so thin it felt like a second skin, the ink faded to the color of dried blood. The first line, written in a hand that trembled not with age but with a terrible, vibrating...
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