The Golden Visit
The oil in the mainspring bucket is cold, a thick, black sludge that refuses to coat the brass teeth of the Great Clock’s escapement. You wipe your hands on your apron, the leather stiff and cracked from decades of grease and sweat, and stare at the mechanism that has defined your life since you were a girl of twelve, bound to Julian’s side by a contract written in blood and ink. The manor is...
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