The Distant Garden
The fog in Oakhaven did not merely obscure the street; it consumed it, a thick, grey wool that smothered the cobblestones and the half-timbered facades of the merchants’ row. You stood in the center of your workshop, the air heavy with the scent of machine oil and the metallic tang of fear, your hands trembling as they hovered over the disassembled heart of the Great Bell’s striking mechanism....
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