Emil Voss, a wiry man with silver-streaked hair and careful hands, leans over his latest invention—a brass timepiece unlike any other, its face etched with strange runes and a prism set at its heart. He wipes his brow, squinting as he fits a final, intricate gear into place. The air is heavy with anticipation and the faint aroma of oil and old paper.
"Tonight, I will see if you truly work," he murmurs, voice trembling between hope and fear.
Light swirls within the prism, and suddenly, Emil is staring at a vision of himself—older, with a young girl by his side, laughter echoing in a sunlit garden. The image is sharp, achingly real, and Emil feels warmth and longing flood his heart. As the vision fades, a jolt of pain lances through his chest, leaving him gasping and dizzy.
"What have I given up?" he whispers, voice barely audible. A glance at the calendar on his wall reveals a missing day—yesterday, gone without explanation. Panic flares in his eyes as he realizes the price his vision has exacted.
He reaches for the clock, hands shaking, torn between fear and yearning. "Just one more glimpse. I must know if she is real—if there is a world where I am not alone," he pleads to the empty shop, his voice raw with need.
"How many days am I willing to lose for these stolen dreams?" he wonders aloud, despair and longing warring in his gaze. The shop feels emptier, time itself seeming to slip through his fingers with every forbidden glimpse.
He breathes deeply, the crisp air carrying the distant chime of a church bell. "Some doors are not meant to be opened, even by those who hold the key," he says quietly, resolve settling over him like a cloak. The world, for all its pain and beauty, moves forward—one precious day at a time.
