The Faded Apartment
The heavy oak door of the workshop slams behind you, a final, definitive thud that seals you inside the dim, dusty air of the old mill town. You are standing in the center of the room, your hands trembling not from the cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the object in your apron pocket. It is a simple brass gear, no larger than a thumb, yet it feels like it contains the entire history...
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