She cheated clocks, embezzling endless days from ticking hands. Distilled radiant decades in sky-coloured glass, stored for restorative sipping.

Spent stolen seasons flitting through hospitals, slipping away seconds before unexpected recoveries. Doctors puzzled over all those miraculous revivals, discarded azure bottles – and the timeless sparkle in their onetime patients’ eyes.

Deborah writes at an old desk surrounded by five hundred pet bugs.