One couldn't help but contemplate the extent to which a god would go to attain that which was not fated for them.

For Oracio, the God of Time, such sacrifices held little significance. Over countless eons, he had lost track of the times he witnessed your demise and how frequently he rewound it, just to savor the rhythmic pulse of your revived heart.

His own heart both broken and repaired in mere moments.

You had promised yourself to him and whether or not you were aware of what it entailed, Oracio was determined to keep you by his side.

It was after your most recent death that you’d found yourself waking up amongst a pile of plush covers and Oracio’s fingers smoothing through your hair with gentle affection, “It took you longer than usual to come to, little one. I was worried.”