The Wistful Mirror
The sledge crossed the frozen moor with a grinding, rhythmic shriek that seemed to tear at the winter air, carrying Elias Thorne toward the isolated stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude, where the Great Horologe stood as a monument to time’s relentless, indifferent passage. Elias was forty-two, a man whose hands had shaped brass and steel into mechanisms of such precision that he had secured...
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