Somewhere, he imagined there was a great room full of hourglasses. He imagined they were filled with different colored sand that hissed as it fell—down, down—and he imagined that, somewhere, every time an hourglass emptied, someone lost their heart. And was forgotten.

He imagined that, somewhere, there was a room full of sundials that lasted even shorter than the hourglasses. He imagined that every slow, silent drift of the shadow represented the chance of one ever reacquiring a heart.

He imagined that, somewhere, there was a room full of fancy ticking clocks and digital displays that outlived even the tallest of hourglasses and the most stubborn of sundials. For some reason, every clock face had mouse ears and dark eyes that laughed unknowingly.

He hated those kinds of dreams, the kinds he could never wake up from, the sort that plagued him as he was forced to stalk up and down these timeless hallways. There was never another soul there, and it wasn't his own great (small) hourglass or sundial that bothered him, it wasn't the gigantic sweep of his hourglass that shook his core.

But, rather, it was the sundial of his beloved Ortensia. He could only watch helplessly, pacing like a lion in a cage, as he watched the shadow slide along every tick in the ancient stone. He knew that, when that tendril of moving darkness disappeared, Ortensia would lose any chance of ever returning to the world outside.

Oswald's ears flattened. Lucky Rabbit his rear! He supposed, though, that it really didn't matter.

He smiled thinly, eyes sad as the world vanished beneath his feet.

Ortensia would never be remembered, because Ortensia would never wake up.

Author's Note: Just a random drabble I wrote so I could stick a story in this section. After all I was the one to write to Fanfiction so they'd add it, so I figured there should be SOMETHING here until I can get some time later to finish my larger piece.