The Golden Song
The cart rattled over the uneven cobblestones of the lower town, the sound a dry, rhythmic warning against the silence of the morning. Elara sat in the back, her hands resting on the edge of the wooden crate, feeling the vibration of the wood travel up her wrists. The crate contained the thing she had spent three years restoring, a mechanism of brass and glass and intricate gears that her...
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