Oz Vessalius knew the rhythm of the clock better than his own heartbeat. Growing up in the austere mansion of the Vessalius dukedom, the grand clock in the main hall was his only confidant. Tick. Tock. Each swing of the pendulum was a promise—that time was linear, that cause preceded effect, that a boy could grow, change, and eventually earn his father’s approval.
His father’s hatred was not irrational. It was the horror of looking at your son and seeing a monster’s lullaby. Gilbert’s undying loyalty was not just friendship. It was the penance of a soul who had once served the man who committed this sin. pandora heart oz
“I am Alice,” she stated, tilting her head like a curious bird. “The B-Rabbit. And you… you smell of the Tragedy.” Oz Vessalius knew the rhythm of the clock
Oz read the words, and the clock in his chest finally stopped. It was the horror of looking at your