The Distant Threshold
The clock does not care if you are tired. That is the first thing you learn, and the last thing you forget, until the gears grind against your patience and your bones. I have worked at the Great Clock in the town hall for thirty-two years, my hands stained with the same black oil that has stained the fingers of every Horak before me. My pension is frozen, a digital error in the new system that...
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