|
Post by Herr Drosselmeyer on Jan 11, 2009 8:50:51 GMT -5
*The dim shop seemed dusty, though its occupant and its contents were a new arrival--it seemed the nature of the clutter and curios to be as dusty as if it had sat there untouched for years. Beneath the curious veil of age, the workings of the clocks gleamed and glittered in what light there was, giving the interior of the shop a strange, live feeling, the reflected lights twirling and twitching as gears turned, pendulums swayed, and mechanical bits clicked and chattered in a low purr to themselves.
More silent than his mechanical companions, the clockmaker sat on a high stool at his worktable at the back of the long, narrow shop, intensely focused as his hands pieced together the delicate intricacies of the insides of machines. Though his hands were large and clumsy-seeming, they moved with a tender delicacy that was almost as unsettling as the notion that the shop breathed and blinked of its own accord.*
|
|