𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝.
❝ in which you piece together the fragments of your past...
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The laws of physics stated that time was an illusion. Yet contrary to that rhetoric, time seemed to flow like a river with a steadfast direction, inexorably moving forward and always present. Time laughed at you with the rise and fall of the sun that marked each new day, because time kept advancing, whilst the hollow emptiness in your heart kept you imprisoned in a constant void.
In the dull cell of a bedroom you sat in for days you lost count of, time mocked you. But it became just as meaningless as you watched the clouds wash by and listened to the rainfall of dusk as your eyes mimicked the water splashing onto the muddy grounds of the garden outside.
Time.
Kita had run out of time.
How long has it been? Since that dreadful day?
How much longer would it take before time exercised its duty to heal the invisible torment eating away at you from the inside out?
