The Distant Ghost
The tremor in your left hand is not a failure of will, but a fracture in the mechanism of your self. You are Elias, thirty-two, and the master clockmaker of Prague’s Old Town, though the title feels less like a crown and more like a noose tightening around your throat. The Great Clock, the pride of the guild and the economic engine of the quarter, has seized. Its escapement wheel is jammed, a...
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