The Golden Cellar
The brooch lay in your palm, a heavy, golden disc of polished alloy that felt less like jewelry and more like a mechanical component, its weight anchored by the intricate escapement visible through the translucent crystal face. You held it under the single bare bulb of the workshop, the light catching the fine hairs on your wrist, the dust motes swirling in the stagnant air of the cellar where...
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