The Golden Cellar
The gears are not your fault, Elias, but the men in the suits are. Elias Thorne wiped a smear of black grease from his cheek, leaving a dark streak on his pale skin. He stood in the center of the town square, the November wind cutting through his wool coat, and faced the municipal board. At their head sat Arthur Pendelton, the man who had taught Elias to file a toothed wheel, now leaning back...
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