The clock was older than any in the shop.
Older than Prague's bones. Hidden in the cellar of an abandoned monastery on the edge of the city, forgotten beneath vines and dust and rot. Elias had discovered it by accident - following a whisper of curiosity through a locked door, down a stone staircase, until he found it.
A great brass face. Cracked glass. Gears rusted through with time. A masterpiece that had once commanded silence from priests, kings, and strangers in need of answers.
It hadn't ticked in over a century.
He brought Amelia to see it one rainy afternoon in late October.
"This was the last thing I wanted to fix before I gave up clockmaking," he said, brushing dust from the dial. "Before I met you."
She ran her fingers over the worn metal. "Then maybe we're supposed to fix it together."
His eyes met hers. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."
They worked on it for weeks.
Every day after closing the shop, they'd walk hand-in-hand to the old monastery. The stone corridors echoed with their laughter, the smell of oil and ink and something older. They brought tools, notebooks, thermoses of coffee. Sometimes they argued - about measurements, about balance springs - but the tension never lasted long.
She would straddle his lap on a work stool and kiss the fight out of him, grease on her cheek, his hands sliding up under her shirt.
It was unlike anything Amelia had ever known.
Work that felt like love.
Love that felt like work - worthy, real, rooted.
And slowly, gear by gear, the broken heart of the old clock began to beat again.
The night it ticked for the first time, snow dusted the windowpanes. A fire crackled in the old hearth. Elias stood behind Amelia, arms around her waist, his lips against the back of her neck.
The gears turned once.
Twice.
The bell inside chimed midnight - slow, ancient, echoing like the world itself was holding its breath.
She turned in his arms, laughing, eyes shining.
"We did it," she whispered.
He didn't smile.
He dropped to one knee.
Amelia froze. The chime still echoed faintly in the air, as if time had slowed just for them.
Elias reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out something small. Not a diamond. Not a box.
A tiny gold gear - polished, delicate, ancient - and hanging from a chain.
"This is from the original movement," he said, voice rough. "The part that wouldn't turn. The one that had to be replaced before the whole thing could work again."
Amelia's breath caught.
"You're the part that changed everything for me," he said. "Before you, nothing moved. I want every hour, every year, every second of my life… with you."
He slipped the gear-necklace into her hand.
"Will you marry me, Amelia Hart?"
She didn't answer with words.
She dropped to her knees, kissed him breathless, pushed him back onto the floor of the dusty old chapel, surrounded by ticking.
Their clothes came off in desperate, reverent motions - shirts peeled, pants tugged, fingers trembling. Her hands traced every scar on his chest. His mouth worshipped every inch of her.
She sank onto him slowly, eyes locked with his, their bodies moving like language - ancient, fluid, sacred. The cold stone beneath them, the firelight flickering above, and the sound of the great clock ticking at last.
He whispered her name again and again, each syllable reverent. Her nails dug into his back. Their rhythm built, slower this time - aching, trembling, profound.
When they came together, it wasn't just physical.
It was a vow.
A surrender.
A promise.
Afterward, she curled into his chest, heart racing, the gear necklace still clutched in her hand.
She whispered into his skin: "Yes. I'll marry you. A thousand times, yes."
The clock above them struck one.
And kept ticking.
For the first time in a century.