The mirror didn’t just reflect Elias anymore; it curated him.
The glass shattered. A sound like a dying bird echoed through the workshop, and the shadows collapsed into dust. Sterling fled, leaving the door swinging on its hinges. the devil in me
Elias felt his vision split. He saw his own hand reach out—not to hand over the clock, but to grip Sterling’s wrist. He felt the strength of ten men coiled in his muscles. His reflection in the glass of the clock wasn't his own face; it was a void with burning, amber eyes. The mirror didn’t just reflect Elias anymore; it
Elias was a restorer of rare clocks—a man of silent rooms and microscopic precision. His life was a collection of steady heartbeats and rhythmic ticking until he found the Solstice Chronometer in a damp cellar in Prague. It was a jagged piece of brass and obsidian, said to be crafted by a monk who had tried to map the exact frequency of the human soul. Sterling fled, leaving the door swinging on its hinges
The first time Elias touched the gears, a spark jumped. It wasn't static; it felt like a cold needle stitching itself into his thumb.
"It’s not me," Elias would tell himself, gripping the edge of his workbench until his knuckles turned white. "It’s the best of you," the shadow would retort.