The Pale Tale
The carriage wheels grind against the cobblestones of the capital, a rhythmic shudder that travels up through the soles of your boots and settles in the hollow of your spine. You are Elias Thorne, a maker of clocks, and you carry a box of walnut and brass that feels heavier than wood and metal should. Inside rests the Meridian Engine, a device of such intricate beauty that it hums with a low,...
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