A story of vampires, hunters, and awakening automata from a brighter bygone age. Part 1 of 2.
No one remembers what these structures were for in their heyday; but today, they serve a nobler cause supporting our lean-to’s and clotheslines. The inscriptions that once covered them have been chipped off and now circulate as a kind of currency, traded or pick-pocketed from each other’s coats, as needed. When you’re rich, you can rest easy within that circle of glyphs, breath unstolen and throat unpunctured. But no one here stays rich for long, and soon you’ll be just like the rest of us sorry bastards: ears straining for the comforting sound of automaton whirrs and clicks as it passes by, counting breaths in the silence that follows, and wishing on all of your good-luck charms that it won’t be you that’s missing in the morning.
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