She sits inside the frame, in a place where time naps and nothing is in a hurry. The surface between worlds has cracked from holding secrets, soft as old glass.
Outside, another version of her keeps watch. Older, winged, and unafraid. She knows some doors open only when they are not touched.
Some places are not meant to be left.
They become stories instead.
This is where she waits.
She sits inside the frame, in a place where time naps and nothing is in a hurry. The surface between worlds has cracked from holding secrets, soft as old glass.
Outside, another version of her keeps watch. Older, winged, and unafraid. She knows some doors open only when they are not touched.
Some places are not meant to be left.
They become stories instead.
This is where she waits.
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