A Clockwork Angel
Glennen gave the screwdriver one final twist and felt a wave of satisfaction and relief wash over him. Seventeen long, arduous years of effort and toil. And here it was. He set his tools down and admired his masterpiece.
It wasn’t without its flaws, obviously. No creation ever is, unless crafted by God’s own two hands. But it was close enough to perfect for Glennen. In fact, it was absolutely breathtaking.
He held up the small angel statue, no larger than his fist, and turned it around in the sunlight streaming through his workshop window. Its brass fittings and silver surface gleamed with a remarkably powerful sheen. Its wings of silk and copper wire were meticulously detailed, and Glennen felt that the result was well worth the additional effort.
He sat the angel back down on his workshop bench and leaned down close.
“It is time,” he whispered gently.
The angel responded with a soft click, followed by a light hum as the intricate gears within engaged and spun.
It rotated and very nearly flew away.