The Distant Machine
The ink was wet, still glistening with the dampness of the underground air, as Elara pressed the nib to the paper. The scratch of the quill against the rough grain was the only sound in the cell, a rhythmic scratching that mimicked the heartbeat of the creature bound within her own ribcage. Outside, the iron lungs of the city heaved and groaned, a mechanical respiration that shook the dust from...
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