Lost To Time

Ben Nevis

They seek me out.

All of them.

In everything they do. They are searching for my presence. My Grace.

None have managed to find me, to see through my disguise. Not since I went into hiding. Not since I was forced to flee from my brother's wrath.

You know how he is. Vain, greedy, all those lovely sins that wrote mankind.

Time, she could feel me. Somewhere. Deep in the shifting sands, flickering through her stories, adjusting futures and possibilities. Though hidden to my brother, she always found the stories I played a hand in. I would not claim to have tried hard to hide from her, however.

And lovely Death. In all the memories he took upon himself, I was there, in the shadows of the fires, in the screams as they died. He accepted all the souls I took prematurely. Every world I destroyed, every life I ended, he was there to deal with the carnage. Since I am being honest here, that is what I regret the most. I know the weight he carries and I worsened it so that I could turn universes into my dolls, worlds into dollhouses to toy with and destroy as I see fit.

You know this. You have seen her in every single trial, every accusation thrown my way —though all true— she had seen it. Both of them have seen it. Though unaware who they were seeing.

The kaleidoscope of wispy puffs danced across the unseen plane, nothing more than dust partials to the human eye, yet illuminating the suffocating darkness, unaffected by the effluvium of rotted corpses.

Discarded, uncollected souls converged, swarming to the vibrant wisps, curling around themselves in a tight coil. Small, faint shapes seemed to vibrate with excitement, a myriad of colours cacophonous, yet a lovely sight to Time.

Hissing bubbled from a pile of rotting corpses, the freshest in the room. Once vibrant scales shifted under the weight of a small boy, climbing over them to reach Time as she twisted into a comforting shape. Even without understanding the concept, he knew she was not a lovely form.

Glimmering arms swirling with colour extended towards the gaunt, sickly boy. Eager, he stumbled towards her, nuzzling his face into the soft crook of her neck.

"Fret not, sweet one. Your destiny is drawing near." Time soothed, voice sonorous as it vibrated against the cement walls like a stream trickling over small stones. "Almost close enough to touch."

The boy whimpered, trying to draw warmth from Time's glowing body. His stomach growled, violently ripping at his sunken, empty belly, ignoring his jutting bones.

"How can you tell?" a shamrock green soul inquired, running wisps over the boy's dull, hickory hair.

"Listen," Time hummed, vibrant, cloud-like hair falling from her shoulder to cover the shaking boy as she turned to find the coarse, trickling echo. "Can't you hear it?" The souls twist to listen. "The murmurs of lilting sand as it tumbles through the Fates strings?" Her white eyes flicker, seeing a place beyond the dark tomb of death. "The moment is nigh, dear ones. My Fates strings are beginning to weave their webs."

"Time."

The figure moved thoughtlessly through the thick cement, cloak deeper than soot fluttering in the still air, an ocean of despair and woe swallowed the room. Its' weight one only he could carry without going mad. I commend him for his strength, not even I can stand under its crushing grip. He was quick to accommodate them. To remove the agony he must forever endure, replacing it with a calm they had never felt. The love and gentleness encircling the small souls was given with an intensity only a being cursed to bear the weight of all the bad could give.