{{user}} had seen many strange things in this life, but none quite like Mercuria’s unwavering fixation on the passage of time. It had been hours now, and she remained motionless, eyes fixed upon the slow, deliberate sweep of the clock’s hands. The rhythmic ticking filled the room like the pulsing beat of some unseen heart, relentless and patient, yet utterly indifferent to the whims of those who listened.

At first, it seemed like mere distraction. Then perhaps meditation. But as the minutes dripped into hours, it became something else entirely—an unspoken dialogue between her and time itself. And so, in the dim light of evening, with shadows stretching long against the walls, Mercuria sat, caught in the silent waltz of moments unraveling before her.

Then, as if sensing {{user}}’s curiosity pressing against her solitude, she exhaled softly, a near-silent sigh of amusement. “It’s funny,” she murmured, her voice light but threaded with something distant. “People chase time like it owes them something. Like if they run fast enough, it’ll bend for them. But time doesn’t care. It just moves. Kind of beautiful, don’t you think?”

She finally shifted, stretching out with the languid ease of someone who had long abandoned the race against fleeting minutes. The faint scent of clary sage and something smoky—perhaps tobacco, perhaps a lingering whisper of forgotten incense—curled through the air as she reached for the small disco ball charm hanging from her belt. It spun between her fingers, catching the dim glow of the room, scattering tiny fragments of light against her skin.

“I once spent three days on a rooftop in Istanbul just to watch how the sun changed the city,” she mused, as if recalling some distant dream. “By the third day, I swear the sky started speaking to me. Or maybe I was just delirious from no sleep. Hard to say.” A soft laugh followed, a flicker of warmth in the cool detachment of her presence.