The Distant Machine
The decree was signed, sealed, and placed in the leather satchel before the first light had touched the high windows of the scriptorium, a final act of defiance against the silence that had begun to grow in the room like a mold. Elias, the Royal Scribe, sat at his desk with the cold wax still soft on the parchment, his hands trembling not from the chill of the early morning but from the sheer,...
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