The pendant swings in time with the mesmerist’s chant as the seconds slowly spend themselves and spin themselves, the hands slowly passing where they’ve passed before, and so are minutes, hours, days, years, spent before the hypnotist. What he tells me in the darkened places of my mind, what he whispers there into my soul, I’ll never know. What dreams he pulls from me and sifts, what secrets he has uncovered there within, are known only in the grave, buried with him and his pendant which shall swing nevermore in life, yet evermore behind my eyes passing and repassing again.
Mesmerist
Tale Told 