"That is why...", the sand man says in a sad tone. "I'm sorry Ho-Favre. You know that time isn't on our side."
The outside is the same as it is everyday, wisps of dust of what used to be pylons, structures of an ancient society long passed. It's always dusk it seems, she contemplates, softly weeping. The wind howled, and to me it sounded like a forlorn melody of suffering. It brought a sense of melancholic solace. This world needs a change. But change, it seems, always takes time.