Oriane
Something was gravely amiss with the clock.
Oh, it had far too many faces, to be sure; all of them were either too fast, or too slow, and none had the serene, confident air of a clock accurate in its representation of the time. But these were merely the most obvious signs of peculiarity. There were more.
Upon first entering the many-sided room, Oriane had received the impression that the clock was displeased to see her. This she had dismissed as a mere fancy of her own, at least at first; something derived, perhaps, from the clock’s immense height, and the way it had of looming over her when she stood directly underneath.
But as the hours dragged by, and nothing happened to release her from the room, she had leisure and occasion to study the clock more closely. She was not requi
