Clock of the talk

Previously

…The flake, now seemingly whole again, pulsed with a gentle, internal light. It was a monument to the drake that had once been, a testament to its final, transformative act. And I knew, with a chilling certainty, that somewhere, sometime, the flake would be consumed again, and in that consumption, a new form would emerge, a new cycle would begin. The rhyme was not just a song; it was a fundamental law, an inescapable truth etched into the fabric of this strange, unsettling world. And I, a mere observer, could only bear witness to its unending, consuming dance.