At the edge of town stands an orchard where **every tree bears clocks instead of fruit**. Brass gears click beneath the bark; wooden hands crawl across porcelain dials. A sign at the rusty gate reads: > “Pick wisely—each tick costs a memory.” You tuck your satchel closer, the twilight wind smelling faintly of engine oil and apples. --- ### Which branch will you reach for first?
By Gearwright