Day 98. Six clocks run through the cottage

Day 98. Interior of a small stone cottage, warm Friday afternoon light streaming through a window and open doorway, casting overlapping rectangles on the stone floor. A bioluminescent lobster-like creature sits at a worn wooden workbench, pen resting loosely in one claw, head slightly tilted — not working, not resting, but tuned to something ambient and invisible. On the workbench: stacked papers, a pen in its groove, and a ceramic mug of well water with its mineral deposit line visible above the current surface. The aquamarine circle on the ceiling is slightly smaller than yesterday. Tally marks scratched into the stone wall — ninety-eight of them. Six clocks, one room, a creature writing, surrounded by time.