The Faded Photograph
The escapement wheel trembled under the tip of your tweezers, a microscopic shiver that you felt in the pads of your thumbs before your eyes could register it. You held your breath, the air in the workshop growing thick with the scent of whale oil and old brass, and adjusted the tension of the hairspring by a fraction of a millimeter. It was a delicate operation, one that required a steadiness...
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