Time had stopped meaning anything. Minutes bled into hours, hours into eternities. There was no enemy to fight, no beast to slay, no dramatic twist to unravel. Only the endless quiet of the garden, and the creeping pressure of inertia.
Vivienne was curled slightly, head resting against Verena's shoulder again, her breathing slow but panicked—like her body wanted to rest, but her heart knew she shouldn't.
"I hate this," she whispered, voice hoarse. "It feels like I'm disappearing. Like… like if I close my eyes too long, I'll just stop existing."
Verena didn't respond immediately. She was struggling too. Her legs felt like stone pillars, her back stiff with cold tension. Her heart beat sluggishly in her chest, her thoughts crawling slower than molasses uphill.
Stillness. That was it.
The trial wasn't just about standing still. It was about being still. About feeling time press down on you until you cracked. Not from outside, but from within.
And it was working.
