The Distant Whispers
The glass cracks. It is a sound like a bone snapping in the dark. You hold the pane in your hands. It is cold. It is sharp. The edges bite into your skin. You do not let go. You are the Keeper of the Clock Tower. You have been it for forty years. The tower is old. The stone is gray. The city sleeps below. But you do not sleep. You never sleep. The clock faces are four. North, South, East, West....
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