The Wistful Letter
The frost bit into the ironwork of the gate as Silas Vance swung his sledgehammer, the rhythm of the blow a counterpoint to the ticking of the steam engines below. He was not fighting a man, but the encroaching grey that threatened to swallow the village of Oakhaven, a place where the boundaries between the organic and the mechanical had long since blurred into a singular, breathing entity. In...
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