Listening to the fiddler deep down, a soliloquy of ashes in the twilight,speaking in tongues of the damned, dead languages of souls departed.The fiddler had no fingers, just bone—yellowed and polished smooth, clicking, against the strings with every note,...

In another life, I have been a sea turtle.Grown up without a mother.Never been taught by anyone.And yet?In the end?I have made my way in the ocean.

In the velvet shadow of the midnight hour, I watch the pendulum—that iron tongue of time—slicing through the thick, oppressivesilence of my chamber. It swings with a rhythmic, soul-crushing certainty, a metronome for a heart that beats only in...