The Betrayal of the Skybound Sorceress
Far above the cloud-kissed peaks of the Eldritch Mountains, where the wind sings in languages only the boldest of spirits dare interpret, there lived a sorceress. Her name was Lyra, and she was as stunning as the stars she commanded. Her magic drew from the heavens themselves, weaving constellations into spells and calling down bolts of lightning that danced like fireflies in the dark.
But Lyra was, as you might guess, rather vain.
She wasn’t content with the normal limitations of magic. No, no she wished for more. She wanted to control not just the stars but the very fabric of time itself. After all, what was a few seconds, or even centuries, to someone who could not die? The idea of bending time to her will seemed like nothing more than a playful challenge.
And so, one crisp autumn evening, as the moon gleamed silver in the sky, Lyra made her decision. She would ask for help. No, trick someone into granting her wish.
She chose the most unlikely of companions: an ancient and mischievous being who lived between the seconds. A trickster who could, and would, pull off any scheme for a price. This being, known only as The Clockmaker, had a fondness for collecting things, souls, moments, even memories. He was known to trade them, bartering one for the other, but never without a cost.
Lyra met with him in the quiet darkness, where time slowed and the stars held their breath. She made her request. And he, as he often did, agreed, though with a knowing smile that hinted at his own plans.
"You shall have time," he told her. "But be wary. Time has a mind of its own, and it doesn’t take kindly to being controlled."
Lyra, too sure of her own power, laughed it off. What could go wrong?
And for a time, everything went exactly as she wished. Lyra danced through the ages, savoring every moment, each one stretched to her desire. But after a while, a long while, something strange happened.
Time, it seemed, was no longer a tool. It had become a companion. She began to hear its voice, soft whispers at the edge of her mind. It grew restless, rebellious. It didn't like being bound by anyone, not even the most powerful of sorceresses.
One day, as Lyra sought to twist time once more to her whim, she felt a snap. A tug on the threads of the universe so sharp that it pulled her into a spiral. She tried to break free, but it was too late. The Clockmaker’s trade was complete. Lyra was bound to the very fabric of time itself.
But here's the twist, here's the fun part, dear mortal.
Instead of doom, Lyra found herself trapped in the most delightful of prisons: a never-ending loop of moments she adored. She was stuck, yes, but the moments she was stuck in were the best ones of her immortal life, forever reliving the sweet feeling of casting her first spell, the thrill of discovering a new constellation, the joy of meeting new immortals.
In a way, the Clockmaker had played his cards with the utmost irony. She hadn’t lost time; she had gained it. She would never be bored, never truly suffer. Time was hers, not as a ruler, but as a companion she could never shake.
So, what of the sorceress? What of the price?
Lyra is still out there, spinning through moments, laughing at the absurdity of her situation. She's no longer searching for more power or control, no, now, she pours her magic into mischief, delighting in the ever-turning wheel of existence.
And, on rare nights, when the stars twinkle just so, you can hear her laughing in the wind, just above the clouds, a woman bound to time, but somehow, free.
🩸⚔
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