The Pale Altar
The steam from the boiler hissed a low, continuous note that vibrated through the floorboards of the workshop, a sound that had long since ceased to be noise and had become the very rhythm of your life, a mechanical heartbeat that you felt in your teeth before you heard it in your ears. You stood at the center of the room, surrounded by the cold, gray carcasses of timepieces, their gears...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima