We Cannot Go Backward,' Marco Says. 'a

Celia, Wait,” Marco Says, Standing But Not Moving Closer To Her. “you Are Breaking My Heart. You Told Me Once That I Reminded You Of Your Father. That You Never Wanted To Suffer The Way Your Mother Did For Him, But You Are Doing Exactly That To Me. You Keep Leaving Me. You Leave Me Longing For You Again And Again When I Would Give Anything For You To Stay, And It Is Killing Me.” “it Has To Kill One Of Us,” Celia Says Quietly.

At The Center, Where A Cuckoo Bird Would Live In A More Traditional Timepiece, Is The Juggler. Dressed In Harlequin Style With A Grey Mask, He Juggles Shiny Silver Balls That Correspond To Each Hour. As The Clock Chimes, Another Ball Joins The Rest Until At Midnight He Juggles Twelve Balls In A Complex Pattern. After Midnight The Clock Begins Once More To Fold In Upon Itself. The Face Lightens And The Clouds Return. The Number Of Juggled Balls Decreases Until The Juggler Himself Vanishes. By Noon It Is A Clock Again, And No Longer A Dream.

I'm Kind Of Big On Performance In General. I Like The Sort Of Entertainment Where You Can Go In And Be Fully Immersed In It.

Why Haven’t You Asked Me How I Do My Tricks?” Celia Asks, Once They Have Reached The Point Where She Is Certain He Is Not Simply Being Polite About The Matter. “because I Do Not Wish To Know,” He Says. “i Prefer To Remain Unenlightened, To Better Remain In The Dark.

All Empires Fall Eventually. It Is The Way Of Things.