The Wistful Show
The great hall of the Ministry of Standards hummed with a low, mechanical vibration. It was the sound of industry, a rhythmic thrumming that seemed to rise from the floorboards themselves. The air tasted of copper and old dust. Professor Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the room. He held a small brass instrument in his hands. It was a chronometer. A simple thing. A mirror of time. The ball was...
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