The Suspended Cadence

The rhythmic swing of the mantle clock's pendulum drew my inspection. I paced along the polished marble shelf, stopping before the glass aperture of the housing. Inside, suspended by fine brass wire, a heavy bob of solid gilding sliced through the shadows with unvarying precision. I rested the base of my scepter against the cold marble trim, observing each stroke. For several minutes, I measured its sweep against my own deliberate cadence. When a faint vibration passed through the stone base, I did not flinch, but merely braced my staff firmer against the surface. Time within this hall proceeds with proper protocol.