The Faded Guest
The brass teeth of the Great Orrery ground against one another with a sound like dry bones rubbing in a jar, and I press my left hand flat against the central housing to steady the mechanism, feeling the cold metal drink the warmth from my palm. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and for thirty years I have been the custodian of this celestial engine in the isolated monastery of St. Jude,...
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