⭑ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏 𝟎𝟏 .ᐟ 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭

4K 135 298
                                        

الماضي كظل طويل، لا يتركنا حتى وإن مشينا بعيدًاthe past is like a long shadow; it doesn't leave us even when we walk far away

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

الماضي كظل طويل، لا يتركنا حتى وإن مشينا بعيدًا
the past is like a long shadow; it doesn't leave us even when we walk far away

             TICKING ECHOED through the morgue, a relentless countdown as the clock on the wall inched toward 10 PM, its rhythm cutting through the stagnant stillness

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

TICKING ECHOED through the morgue, a relentless countdown as the clock on the wall inched toward 10 PM, its rhythm cutting through the stagnant stillness.

With each tick, a life slipped further away.

The numbers pulsed in the quiet : 108 lost every minute, 6480 in an hour. It was like a ceaseless march toward eternity, counted in heartbeats that would never echo again.

The morgue, sterile and cold, was a place where life had been reduced to charts, instruments, and clinical detachment. Yet tonight, even its unfeeling walls seemed weighed down by the enormity of it all. The air felt heavier, laced with a quiet reverence for the stories now stilled, for the breaths that would never again disturb the silence.

Inside this stark sanctum, time felt as though it had slowed to a crawl, suspended in the heavy stillness, burdened by the quiet presence of the dead.

And it was here, in this realm of silence and finality, that Dr. Maryam Ben Halimi sat ; a solitary figure amid the shadows, like an angel tasked with bearing witness to the lives now gone.

More like an ethereal presence among the cold gleam of stainless steel and unforgiving white walls, the woman hovered over a lifeless body, movements quiet and reverent, like a priestess tending to sacred rites. Hands, steady as the Fates themselves, guided the delicate threads of mortality to their inevitable end.

Light brown hair, meticulously swept into a French twist beneath a whimsical unicorn scrub cap, glowed with a caramel sheen, catching the light in such a way that it seemed kissed by the sun, even in the shadow of death. The warmth of her tanned, almost bronze skin carried the whisper of far-off lands, of deserts and ancient places where myths were born and legends thrived.

Under the harsh, artificial light, almond-shaped hazel eyes flickered with a brilliance that seemed otherworldly, shifting from deep forest green to molten gold, like the eyes of a goddess who peers beyond the veil of the living.

𝐓𝐔'𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈 ❧ bruce wayne.Where stories live. Discover now