The Golden Echoes
The needle slipped through the golden thread with a sound like a bone breaking, and I watched the light bleed out of the filament, turning it the color of old ash before it snapped. My hands, usually steady enough to calibrate the escapement of a pocket watch, were trembling so violently that I could not hold the tweezers. Across the workbench, the Grand Meridian ticked, a slow, heavy pulse...
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