The Wistful Silence
The invoice lay on the workbench, its ink smudged by the damp that had seeped through the shattered wall of the Grand Duchy’s palace, the paper soft and yielding under the weight of Elias Thorne’s cane. It was a demand for the repair of the Great Meridian Clock, a sum of four hundred crowns that represented not just the brass and steel but the final pension Elias had clawed back from the teeth...
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