The Distant Nightmare
The lantern burned low, its flame a trembling eye in the vast, dark cathedral of the workshop, casting long, jagged shadows that danced against the stone walls like the spirits of every clock face Elias Thorne had ever dissected and reassembled. He sat hunched over the workbench, his fingers, once steady as iron, now trembling with a palsy that felt less like age and more like a slow poison...
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