Shadows do not abide by daylight saving... No clocks here are correct.

Instead, there are whispers of moments spent slipping through the crescent dimness...

In Kingsley Square, 1889, the cobblestone streets were merely suggestions of where time chose to walk.

“It was the best of times,” said Eliza, scribbling in a leather-bound book, a future's past echoing.

Beyond reachable infinity, lies the dimmest glint of what was, or perhaps what will be. Who can say?