So many little pieces. So many little pieces coming together. This one has curves. This one ninety degree angles. And maybe ninety angels. Angels watching over you, but you sacrifice time after time, click-by-click, tock by tick, one-way treadle to provide. Our keeper. Our keeper who reluctantly sheds skins of molted scales of time. Time. Time is our gift; we spend and spill it like seeds, like children, wasteful and squandering, missed targeted, but not lost. The spell worked. The spell worked and you fell down while I floated and you fell but you fought. You fought.