2025.11.05
Jane was a keeper of circular moments—those delicate intervals that slipped between memory and oblivion. Every day, she winds the hidden clocks buried within the air, and hears their uneven rhythm like the heartbeat of the world. He believed that time was not a straight line but a breathing circle, held gently in the hands of those who dared to remember.
Her chamber was filled with faintly glowing orbs, each a piece of someone else’s: a child’s laugh, a final goodbye, a breath before sleep. Jane held them close to her face, feeling the warmth of the life that once was. Orbus crushed the stories to him.
But Jane knew that protection came at a price. Each time he sealed a memory, a portion of his time was dissolved. His reflection was uneven – one side still young, the other becoming translucent. The chamber dimmed as the orbs beat, and the ticking was soft, slow, like a heart forgetting its purpose. Still, he said, believing that even nonsense buzz deserves a place in eternity.
Jane smiled as the last clock stopped. Around him, circles began to swirl, merging into a luminous circle. Time had finally remembered him.