The Faded Bouquet
The brass filings caught the weak October light, glittering like scattered teeth on the dark mahogany of the workbench. You held the tweezers with a grip that should have been steady, but your fingers spasmed, a fine, involuntary tremor that traveled from your wrist to the tip of the steel. The Eternal Chime sat before you, an intricate skeleton of gears and springs, waiting for the final...
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