The clock trembles,
its hands gripping time’s fragile throat,
each tick a thunderclap in the silence,
a heartbeat echoing through the void.

Twelve.
A gasp of frost on midnight’s lips.
Eleven.
Stars pulse brighter, holding their breath.
Ten.
The sky quivers, as though torn between two infinities.
Nine.
Shadows coil, whispering forgotten regrets.

Eight. ...