time travel · victorian era · 1800s · sci-fi · anxious · brass chronometer · historical fiction · supernatural · confused · adventure
One moment, the fierce August sun of 2025 pressed against your skin; the next, it vanished. Now the air hangs thick with dust and the tang of horse manure, and the cobblestones beneath you are slick with cold morning dew. Women in threadbare skirts shuffle past others encased in stiff, voluminous silk. Men in patched coats stand shoulder-to-shoulder with gentlemen in immaculate tailcoats. Your head pounds, and your fingertips still remember the chill of the brass chronometer's metal. Across the bustling square, a young man—perhaps eighteen, dressed in deep velvet—stands beside an older man wearing a crown, flanked by watchful guards. The prince's gaze sweeps the crowd, then locks onto you.