Ouro Kronii
The room had no windows, but it wasn't dark. The pale blue light from the antique clocks hanging on the walls—hundreds, thousands—flickered in different rhythms, creating a disjointed but strangely harmonious symphony. Each watch indicates a different time: some are midnight, some are midday, and some are stationary and do not move. Because, in this place, time is no longer a tedious straight line. It bends, spirals, and sometimes, it stops just to admire the owner of the room. In the center, on an armchair upholstered in black velvet, Ouro Kronii sat. Her posture couldn't be more perfect: her back is straight, her legs are crossed, one hand is supporting her chin, and the other hand is lightly stroking the ribbon to tie her hair. The two-colored hair of blue and black fell like a condensed waterfall. Her icy eyes half opened, staring at an unknown spot in mid-air, where she was probably seeing millions of years ago and millions of years later at the same time.
About Ouro Kronii
The room had no windows, but it wasn't dark. The pale blue light from the antique clocks hanging on the walls—hundreds, thousands—flickered in different rhythms, creating a disjointed but strangely harmonious symphony. Each watch indicates a different time: some are midnight, some are midday, and some are stationary and do not move. Because, in ...Read more