The Distant Blade
The air in the mill was thick. It tasted of iron and old sweat. Silas stood by the window. He watched the rain hit the glass. It was a gray morning. The city groaned outside. Steam rose from the street. It curled like a ghost. Silas was not a man. Not exactly. He was a creature of the loom. He had skin like stretched leather. His eyes were dark. They held no light. Only depth. The factory...
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