“I know, my Lord.”
The journey to the Attic of Forgotten Hours was a journey through the Estate’s memory. Each corridor she crossed shimmered with ghost-light. She passed the Hall of First Meetings, where she saw herself as a newly assembled bunny maid, fresh from the Clockwork Menagerie, ears still stiff with factory starch. Lord Alistair had been young then—well, younger for a being made of starlight and spare clock parts. He had looked at her and said, “You’ll do.” The highest praise he ever gave.
And then he laughed. A real laugh, rusty but warm, like an old music box playing one last waltz.
“Barely, Miss Tina. The Lichen feeds on leftover time. The Viscount’s final heartbeat—the last tick of his soul-clock—will release enough temporal energy to turn this whole manor into a crystal forest. Unless…” Tina the Bunny Maid -Final- By MikiY
One more day. Tina’s whiskers trembled. A single, perfect day. She thought of all the mornings she had served him tea in the Sunroom, the way his hollow eyes would brighten when she added three lumps of sugar. She thought of the library, where they had read tales of lost kingdoms, and the greenhouse where she had grown moon-carrots just to make him laugh.
Tina looked out at the Estate—her home, her purpose, her whole existence. The gears were already slowing. The light was thinning. In an hour, maybe two, the crystal fungus would bloom again, and the silence would return forever.
Tina adjusted her bow—a perfect, powder-blue satin knot that had become her signature—and smoothed the front of her starched apron. Her long, cream-colored ears twitched, scanning for sound. Nothing. Even the ghost of the late Viscount, who usually rattled his chains in the West Corridor precisely at 2:17 PM, was absent. “I know, my Lord
“Master?” she called, her voice a soft chime in the vast, empty hall. “Lord Alistair?”
“Tina, my dear,” he had said, his voice a dry rustle of old parchment. “When the final chime comes, don’t mourn. Just close the front door and let the flowers grow over the gates.”
The first thing Tina noticed was the silence. Lord Alistair had been young then—well, younger for
She opened the inspection panel. Inside, the great brass gears were not rusted. They were petrified . A crystalline fungus had grown between the teeth, locking everything in place. Tina touched it with a gloved fingertip. It was cold. And it was spreading.
She walked to the front door, just as he had asked. She opened it. Outside, the garden had grown wild—roses twined with clockwork vines, and over the iron gates, a cascade of white flowers had begun to bloom.
“To my dearest Tina: You were never a servant. You were the only heartbeat this old clock ever had. Give me one more sunrise with you. That’s all I ask. – A”
The dials began to spin.
