Photo albums are windows to times gone past, they say.
The click of the camera shutter, the immortalisation of a moment that will never occur again.
Never the right time, never the right place, never the right people.
It will never be the right kind of 'anything' ever again
Never Ever.
Forever.
Dangerous words, those 'ever's'
Ever is always. Always is ever. All the way, backwards, forwards and now, to infinity.
However.
"Look inside this one", she'll say, the woman who appears, just at your lowest moment.
She'll never look the same.
Never Ever.
But her clothes are always darker than black, softer than velvet. And she's always quieter than silence. Her hair the dark, mousy brown of a person who wishes to be unobtrusive, but knows they are anything but. Sometimes, they say, it sprouts glowing eyes in the depths of it's length, and they stare into your soul, and all that you're worth. And the photo album, a thick book, with a deep, red, leather cover, remains clutched under her arm.
Always.
Forever.
She'll stand in front of you, barefooted and silent, until you look up and notice her. Nobody else sees her, not until you do.
She'll cradle your chin, stare into your soul, and sometimes, she'll judge you worthy.
"...Would you like to see a photo?" She'll say. She'll smile like she knows you, knows you cannot, will not say no.
"One of them reminds me of you"
And she opens that album, cradled in her wiry arms, whether she's short, tall, young, or old, and flick through the creamy, memory-laden pages. As she flips through them, they say, your life flashes before your eyes, the good and the bad, the past moments of joy and woe, and the future, of what could've been.
Not anymore.
You've answered her call. You hit rock bottom, and then you acknowledged her presence. Whatever would have been, could have been, should have been, for you, is no longer. It's hers now, a photo in her album somewhere.
She'll stop at a page, jolting you out of your reverie, and point one finger, slowly, slowly, at a single image.
Yours.
It's yours now.
It wasn't before, but it is now.
Whatever you are now, whatever you were, whatever you would be is gone.
The image in the picture is yours now, the scene in time your reality, a place other then Earth.
To others, those who saw and stayed, you'll vanish, fade out of existence, until all but those of the strongest wills will doubt you were there at all. And the woman will laugh, high and bright, and walk off to wherever she came from.
She never takes those but the ones who want it.
But perhaps, the Time Witch will come for you someday.
Maybe.
