One might wonder at the moment in time when the line between watchfulness and watching over thins. In the year 1473, beneath the shadows of stone thick walls, a figure cloaked in the mist of tomorrows stood guard. Not over land, but time itself spilled silently across the moat.
When whispers echoed from waves that kissed the shores of Normandy, a boy of eleven stepped into the unknown. 1142 bears witness to the first documented instance of time slipping like sand through a child's fingers, unheeded and untamed.
Our modernity does not brighten 1899; it darkens it instead. The moatkeeper's secret slips through the years like an unseen ghost, guarding secrets of clocks and adjustments that reverberate through time's corridors.
In the year when choirs sang silent hymns, 1635 speaks volumes in whispers. The echoes of time heard and unheard reveal a world where reality melts like candle wax against the frosted window of the past.