The Wistful Saga
The brass mainspring coiled tighter in Elias’s palm, humming with a vibration that traveled up his wrist and settled into his teeth, a weight so distinct it felt like holding a living, angry thing. He did not look up from the workbench, where the disassembled heart of the family clock lay scattered in a circle of rust and oil, but he could feel the eyes of the magistrate burning through the...
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