Setting the scene…
Interactive story
When time permits
Written examples of life as poetry, and poetry within fantasy
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Previously
…“I am the marksman,” she whispered. “I am the hand. I am ready now.” The clock began to tick. Steady. Sure. The feather rose from the desk and floated to her, settling on her shoulder. The sapling’s leaves chimed. She sat down at her desk, opened the notebook to a fresh page, and wrote: “The twelve marksmen have fired. The wall is a circle. The hand is a door. Time permits what time becomes. And I am becoming.” She closed the notebook. The watch ticked. The feather hummed. The sapling grew. And Elara smiled, knowing that the poem was not finished. It was just beginning. She was ready for the next moment. The next door. The next word. When time permits, she thought. And I do.