The Eternal Mourning

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2026-06-03 18:32:36 -

The fog in London did not merely drift; it clung to the cobblestones like a shroud, damp and smelling of coal smoke and old grief. I sat in my workshop, the rhythmic ticking of a hundred clocks echoing the frantic beating of my own heart. In my palm lay the pocket watch—a tarnished silver relic that defied the laws of God and man. I remember the first time I used it. A single click of the...

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