Three sisters were born on the very same morn, a trio that none could divide.
Through laughter and tears, through childhood years, they always stood side by side.
Yet fate is unkind to hearts intertwined, for life pulls each soul its own way.
And so it began, the breaking of hands, when one chose to leave the next day.
The eldest, named Vera, had dreams that burned clearer, ambitions as high as the sky.
She longed to be great, to carve out her fate, to rise where the soaring birds fly.
The second, called Lain, found joy in the plain; her happiness close to the ground.
“A life filled with love is far rich enough,” she warned, but Vera simply frowned.
\"You waste your days in comfort’s embrace, when there\'s more out there to behold!\"
But Lain shook her head and calmly she said, \"Some stories don’t need to be told. \"
The youngest, sweet Nell, stood silent and still, her thoughts hidden deep in her chest.
For between the divide, with love on each side, she knew not which path was best.
But silence does not mean the absence of pain, nor the lack of a path to be paved.
As Vera pursued the life she had craved, Nell too; feared being enslaved.
For watching them fight, night after night, had planted a seed in her mind:
To never choose sides, to drift with the tides, and leave her own dreams behind.
With words left to sting and settling nothing, the sisters had drifted apart.
Vera left fast, for glory and cash, with hunger that swallowed her heart.
Through years passing by, she climbed to the sky, her name set in silver and stone.
Yet cold were the halls of her towering walls, and each night she dined all alone.
Then came the night of an eerie light, as the clocks all stopped in their place.
A man dressed in grey, with eyes dull as day, appeared with a sombre embrace.
\"A tour of your fate, before it\'s too late,\" he murmured, extending a hand.
With a hesitant breath, half-fearing her death, she followed the clockmaker’s plan.
They stood in a tower, gilded with power, her empire gleaming below.
A version of her, adorned in fine fur, with riches that endlessly flow.
Yet no voice did call in the gold-laden hall, no laughter or love filled the air.
Just echoes of past, reminders that last, of those who had once been there.
Then onward they stepped, to a room where time slept; a collection of clocks on a shelf.
Each frozen in place, as if locked in embrace, she even saw one of herself.
The clockmaker strained, his voice worn and plain, as he turned to the rows filled with dust.
\"Each tick, each chime, was a moment in time, yet now they have faded to rust.
For love does not shatter, nor vanish in space; it withers when left all alone.
You traded your days for fortune and praise, and now time is carved into stone.”
He stepped to a clock, its glow growing weak, its hands barely pushing ahead.
\"This one still turns, though slower it burns; a life lived in echoes unsaid.
\"Why have they stopped?\" Vera then sobbed, her chest growing heavy with pain.
\"You traded your time for fortune to climb,\" he answered, his voice worn and plain.
She waited, she wondered, she carried the past, but time does not wait for the few.
The longer you climbed, the more she was left, and soon there’ll be nothing to view.\"
Then, in the gloom, one clock filled the room, still ticking but weak and slow.
It bore Lain’s name, its hands near their end, its light flickering dimly and low.
Its gears ground tight, its glow was slight, a machine barely clinging to life.
For each year Vera spent chasing ascent, Lain had spent mending the strife.
.
With fewer and fewer hands to hold, her days became quieter still.
With Vera long gone, and Nell’s will withdrawn, only echoes remained to fill.
She lived as she wished, she loved and she laughed, but something had chipped at her soul.
For all things decay, when left to the grey, and time takes its final toll.
At last, in the dust, was a clock barely touched; a simple and fragile thing.
It bore Nell’s name, yet still it remained, its hands caught in an aimless swing.
Vera reached out, confused by its face, for the time it told was unclear.
\"Why does this one not move yet nor stop?\" she asked, half-choked by her fear.
The clockmaker sighed, and turned his eyes, to the sister they both left behind.
\"For never she chose, and never she rose, she let her own future unwind.\"
Between longing and loss, between safety and cost, Nell walked where the shadows abide.
Never too near, never too far; just always and ever beside.
A breath left her lips, her heart then eclipsed, as fear clawed deep in her chest.
\"Let me go back!\" she cried through the black, \"I see now what mattered the best!\"
The clocks all did chime, turning back time, as the world melted away.
Vera awoke in her humble abode, where morning had just met the day.
Gasping for air, her heart laid bare, the echoes of loss still tight.
Yet warmth filled her chest, a hand on her wrist; she had never left that night.
Her sisters still near, their voices sincere, and a new light inside was shown.
And deep in her soul, the lesson took hold; some things are worth more than a throne.