Time immorial.
Its funny, really, when one thinks about it.
What is time but a construct? Of ruins and decay and time passing and yet—
Yet some things endure.
Some things look frozen, locked in place despite dust lining shelves and walls.
The humming starts up then. Soft and delicate and kind despite what monster lurks beneath her skin.
Or, rather, what doesn’t.
….We return back to a book. A book? A sketchbook, abandoned if but for a brief moment on a table as the dead world that waits for all looms outside. And the occupant inside moves to collect said book, to engage in a changeling play of sorts once more.
Some things never change. Some events across multiple timelines stay the same.
Only, for the Witch of Memory, what really is changed is her.
And shes fine with that.