The Distant Nightmare

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2026-08-20 10:44:28 -

You hold the letter in your left hand, the paper soft and damp from the condensation on the brass railing, while your right hand grips the gun with a tension that has become a second skeleton. The train is moving, a long, groaning beast of iron and soot that cuts through the grey morning like a knife through fog. It is 1893, or perhaps 1894, the years are blurring into a single, indistinct...

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