The Faded Quadrant
The glass of the quadrant cracked under the loupe, a thin white spiderweb blooming across the gold face, and you watched the reflection of your own haggard face fracture with it, the image splitting into a dozen jagged shards that seemed to deepen the hollows beneath your eyes. You are Elias Thorne, a watchmaker in Oakhaven, and the year is 1912, though the soot in the air and the ache in your...
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