...the clock in the hall dredged up seconds like stones and dropped them again into the pool of the day, letting each ripple widen before the next one fell.
Sometimes, it is so tempting to forget but forgetting erases part of who you are and, often, no one benefits quite as much as those who have wronged one and, of course, the professionals who cause one to forget whether they use magic or laudanum... They say that memories can be bound into books so that all that hurts you is forgotten but each binding takes away a part of who you are; in no small measure, you are your past, the happy and the unhappy together. A cautionary tale against forgetting, against allowing oneself to forget even though remembering isn't easy, reminding one both that trying to conform to societal expectations which do not suit one can lead to losing oneself and that to forget entirely leads one into the same traps again and again.