The Faded Ruin
You are standing in the middle of a field that no longer exists on the map, a vast, flat expanse of grey loam and dead stalks stretching out to a horizon that seems to dissolve into static, and you are holding a brass instrument that is cold enough to burn your skin, a device of intricate gears and glass lenses that you spent the last four years building in a basement that smells of mildew and...
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