The Faded Attic
The gear slipped from his tweezers, clattering against the brass plate with a sound like a small bone breaking. Elias stared at the fracture line, a hair-thin white scar running through the gold of the Heart of Hours, and felt the cold sweat prickle along his spine. He was forty years old, a master clockmaker of the Guild of Aethelgard, and his hands, which had once moved with the fluid grace...
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