The Golden Oath
You press your thumb against the brass casing of the pocket watch, feeling the cold metal bite into the whorls of your skin. It is a small, precise pain, the kind that keeps the mind tethered to the present when the rest of the world begins to hum. The rain in this city does not fall so much as it condenses, a fine, oily mist that clings to the wool of your coat and makes the pavement slick...
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