The Distant Machine

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 16:28:10 -

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and old wax, a cloying mixture that coated the back of Eamon’s throat like a second skin. He stood at the edge of the tapestry, his fingers raw and stained with the grease of the loom, watching the Lord’s men drink themselves into a stupor of power. The air was thick, heavy with the breath of forty men who did not know the weight of wool or the bite...

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