The Distant Legend
The pendulum swung left, then right, a heavy brass weight cutting the air with a sound like a dry cough. Elias Thorne counted the seconds under his breath, one, two, three, four, keeping the rhythm of his own failing heart in check against the clock’s indifferent tick. It was three days before the solstice, and the workshop table was buried under layers of oilcloth, scattered with screws that...
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