1.

I can’t remember the last time I opened my eyes. I am alone in a glass room and if I look the reflections will drive me mad.

The birdsong trickles liquid over my shuttered ears. The snow bird in the crystal cage, its diamond beak prised wide, swollen throat spilling the endless trill. The notes pierce me in places I had forgotten and, needle-sharp, wound me. My soft flesh is warm and alien in this palace of ice, abraded by sharp edges, blushing blue and pink. This is a grand place, and empty.

The tiles on the floor are ivory white and my feet ghost them. My fingers are twigs that snap in the hard frost; my ribs are meshed blades. Every breath hurts, every heart beat rips with simple savagery. I gape and the steam cloud of breath sinks into a pool of mist. I could hide an army with my hot, red mouth. The chandeliers drop light and gems in cold shards.

I peek out from behind the bars of my lashes. I carry my own cage. My shadows fall long and crazed against a maze of mirrors and march in geometric patterns to that point where sight stops and the world disappears.

This is the clock that never stops. I peal with the mad low tone of a striking bell.