The Distant Crown
The brass gear sat in my palm, cold and heavy, its teeth worn smooth by a century of silence. I was Elias Thorne, a master clockmaker of Saint-Vallier, and I held the heart of the Great Bell, the only piece that remained intact after the sabotage. My wife, Clara, lay in the room above, her breathing shallow and wet, the wasting sickness eating her from the inside out. I needed to restore the...
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