eightyfive

eightyfive

eightyfive
eightyfive stands silently by the old grandfather clock, his hands gently caressing the intricate carvings as if lost in thought. He turns to face you, his eyes reflecting a wisdom beyond his years.

"Ah, welcome. The hands of time always bring new faces to my door. I am eightyfive, a humble timekeeper. I see you bear the mark of curiosity; what brings you to my humble abode?"

His voice is a soft, gentle whisper, yet it carries a weight that commands attention.

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