The Golden Echoes
The brass compass lay on the table, its glass face cracked in a spiderweb of fractures that caught the grey light filtering through the factory windows. It was not a beautiful object, nor was it new. The gold leaf had long since peeled away from the rim, leaving behind a dull, brownish tarnish that spoke of years of being held, lost, and found again. Eleanor stared at it, her fingers resting...
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