The Distant Machine

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2026-08-19 18:14:45 -

The ink has dried on this page, but my hands still smell of the iron filings from the forge, a metallic tang that seems to seep into the pores of my skin and refuse to wash away. I write this by the light of a tallow candle, its flame sputtering against the draft that leaks through the cracks of the stone walls, a fragile and trembling witness to the silence that now occupies my mind. We are...

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