He stepped out into yesterday's dawn, the sun still a stranger in its own skies.
The clock is my compass, he whispered.
In the library, she found volumes of unwritten history.
Here, time folds, she noted, like origami of the soul.
They walked the streets of an ancient city, where every stone told a tale of future echoes.
The past is a mirror, he murmured, reflecting what has yet to happen.
Underneath the old oak, she buried a secret too vast for the present.
Time is a labyrinth, she concluded, and I am its minotaur.