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In the small town of Eldrith Hollow, tucked away in the misty hills, there lived an
old clockmaker named Rowan. His shop, filled with the constant ticking of clocks
and the scent of wood shavings, stood at the center of town like a timeless
monument. Rowan had been repairing and crafting clocks for as long as anyone could
remember. But beyond his trade, he was known for something far more peculiar — once
every year, Rowan would gift one of his clocks to a stranger passing through town.
No one knew why he did this. The clocks were intricate, masterpieces of brass and
glass, with gears that seemed impossibly delicate. Some people said they were
enchanted, though most dismissed it as rumor.
One autumn evening, as the orange hues of the setting sun bathed Eldrith Hollow, a
young woman named Mira wandered into town. She had been traveling for weeks,
seeking refuge from a life that had grown dull and unremarkable. She noticed
Rowan’s shop by chance, drawn in by the warm glow of the lantern hanging outside.
Inside, the shop was quiet except for the rhythmic ticking. Clocks of every size
and shape adorned the walls, some ancient and others more modern, their hands all
moving in perfect harmony. Rowan, hunched over his workbench, barely glanced up as
she entered.
“Looking for a clock?” he asked in a voice as measured as the ticking around him.
Rowan paused, his hands stilling over a small pocket watch he was repairing. He
looked at her, his gaze sharp and thoughtful. Then, with a nod as though coming to
a decision, he reached behind the counter and brought out a clock unlike any she
had ever seen. It was small, but its craftsmanship was flawless, with a face made
of deep blue crystal and hands that shimmered like stardust.