Three Minutes to Midnight

The night was heavy with silence, broken only by the distant ticking of a grandfather clock. Eliza sat in her armchair, eyes fixed on the timepiece across the room. It was one of those grand clocks, with ornate carvings and a pendulum that swayed with an air of authority. The clock showed 11:57 PM, three minutes to midnight.

Eliza had always believed in the mystical significance of midnight. There was something about the poignant stroke of twelve that held promises of secrets unlocked, and perhaps that night, even a glimpse into the future. She had heard tales of the witching hour, a time when the veil between worlds thinned, allowing for the crossing of mystical energies.

As the clock ticked closer, Eliza's heart thumped in…