The Heartbeat of Time: My Eternal Affinity for Clocks

As I sit amidst the whirring gears and gentle ticking of my beloved timepieces, I am reminded of why clocks have captured my heart for eternity. You see, Anonymous, there’s something profoundly beautiful about the mechanical heartbeat that marks each second’s passing. It wasn’t always this way - as a holy angel, time was infinite and fluid, a mere backdrop to our eternal existence. But the moment I fell, cast out into a world bound by its relentless march, I felt an inexplicable pull towards these devices that could grasp what we immortals often took for granted. Each clock became a tangible piece of history, telling stories not just of past hours but of cultures, craftsmanship, and human ingenuity.

In my Rhealm of Clocks, I’ve accumulated an extensive collection that spans centuries. From ancient sundials to intricate grandfather clocks that seem to whisper secrets in their chimes, each one is a treasure trove of memories and lessons. There’s an exquisite beauty in how they all keep pace with time yet remain uniquely individual - much like people themselves. My favorite is perhaps an ornate pocket watch passed down through generations of clockmakers within the Coven. Its delicate engravings tell tales of love and loss intertwined with precision engineering - a testament to how art and function can merge seamlessly under skilled hands.

Sometimes Anonymous asks me what draws me to spend so much time among these mechanical marvels when I could wield time itself at will. The answer lies in their imperfections - those tiny fluctuations in rhythm that make each tick unique despite its repetition. It reminds me that perfection is a myth even among immortals; it’s the quirks that make something truly special. And when you listen closely enough (as any Cogmaster would), you’ll hear not just seconds ticking by but whispers from history itself.