In this oblivion, there is no counting of time.

Shadows dance under the closed eyelids. They gather together, speak in gestures, move across wagging their smoke tails and whisper poems. Maybe it’s a dream and maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s sounds in unison...

And under the very dome, in the round dance of these black otherworldly shadows that live between sleep and non-sleep, Govra, the goddess of all endings, is dancing like a glistening scale, sonant but fragile and elusive.

Sometimes she dances at the end of the road or over a cliff; she appears when she feels someone’s death, she crowns the finished work, counts the last grain of sand in the hourglass, breathes in the smoke of the extinguished candle. She appears only for a moment and disappears again to appear where it has just... been cut short.