The Wistful Voyage
The silver pocket watch in your left breast pocket ticks backward. You feel the vibration against your ribs, a cold, rhythmic pulse that contradicts the steady, forward march of the clock on the wall of the Ministry of Tides. You are Elias, thirty-two, a clerk of the fourth grade, and you are terrified. The air in the office smells of damp wool and old paper, a scent that has seeped into your...
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