The Wistful Witness
The glass face of the Great Chronometer shattered before I could adjust the mainspring. The sound was not a crash but a shriek, a high-frequency tear that split the silence of the vault. I stood frozen, my tweezers suspended in the air, watching the fragments drift down like black snow onto the polished brass casing. The Hum was louder now. It was in my teeth, in the marrow of my bones, a...
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