They carefully arrange hundreds of clocks in a spiral pattern, each one a second behind the one before them. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I live, I die, I live again,
I live, I learn, I change, I grow,
We are not only our copies,
Are you now the same as you were?
Arri Culye retweeted
A click of a lighter, her fingers sticky with blood. She sniffs the air of a stuffy inn, ink staining the scent.





