The Wistful Mirror
The dream began with the sound of a clock that did not tick, but rather breathed, a slow, rhythmic exhalation of brass and dust that seemed to emanate from the very air of the old observatory. Elias Vane stood before the great orrery, its brass planets suspended in a void of velvet darkness, and felt the weight of his own body becoming a theoretical abstraction, a point mass in an expanding...
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