The Golden Scar
The brass pocket watch hangs around your neck on a chain that has grown thin and brittle with age. It is a heavy, cold weight against the sternum, a constant reminder of the time you have spent and the time you are about to lose. You are the Keeper of the Hour, a title that sounds noble in the archives of the Ministry of Temporal Continuity but feels, in practice, like a chain of its own. The...
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