Mystery

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In a fog‑shrouded town perched on the edge of a restless sea, there lived an old clockmaker named Elias. His shop was a narrow, timber‑walled place where the scent of oil and polished brass mingled with the distant smell of salt. Inside, clocks of every shape ticked in unison—grandfather clocks with pendulums that swayed like ship masts, pocket watches that glimmered like moonlit waves, and tiny mantel clocks that chimed with the soft rustle of seagull wings.