The Wistful Dinner
The hammer head caught the glass with a sound like a bone snapping, and the reflection of Elias Thorne did not shatter into shards of crystal, but into a dozen jagged, screaming mouths. He stood in the soot-stained workshop, the Grand Meridian clock ticking a relentless, mechanical heartbeat against the silence of the night. The face of the pendulum had been mocking him for three hours,...
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