The Clockwork Anchor
The fog of London did not merely drift; it possessed the city, a thick, sulfurous shroud that tasted of coal and forgotten prayers. In the heart of this grey purgatory lived Arthur, a man whose world was measured in the rhythmic, obsessive ticking of a thousand brass gears. Arthur was a clockmaker by trade, but a physicist by obsession. He lived in a narrow townhouse that leaned precariously...
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