Clamantine:The Clock That Wept

“Clamantine: The Clock That Wept”

By Darklady

darkwitchery.com

We weren’t searching for her.

Chris and I stepped into the clock shop like wanderers crossing a forgotten threshold—just to look, just to imagine. But some part of me already knew. The air changed the moment we walked in, and my heart stirred the second I saw her.

She stood in wood—tall, solemn, carved in dark oak with time etched into every grain. Her face gleamed gold beneath the glass, and below her, the brass pendulum shimmered like a forgotten memory. She wasn’t just old—she was waiting.

Chris pointed her out, but it was my hand that reached forward. My fingers touched the glass, and the world tilted.

That chill.

The kind that sinks past skin and bone and into the places where spirit lives. The hairs on my arms rose. My breath caught.

And then—A whisper.

Soft.

Ache-laced.

Feminine.

“Buy this clock. It’s from my love… so long ago.”

And then she showed herself.

A vision clear as moonlight. A woman, slender and somber, dressed in black from hat to heel. Her hair in a 1920s flapper bob, her small black hat shadowing her eyes. She sat quietly in a parlor steeped in sorrow, hands folded in her lap, trembling as she watched the clock tick—tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

Her name floated into my mind as if it had always been there.

Clamantine.

A woman wrapped in grief, still clinging to the last sound she remembered: the chime of love lost.

We bought the clock.

No hesitation.

No question.

She isn’t even here yet—the delivery won’t arrive until next Thursday—but her presence? She’s already walked through the front door.

Chris and I made a vow the moment we said yes:

This house will never be sold.

This is Clamantine’s sanctuary now.

And she will be the soul and heartbeat of this home.

Later, as I looked closer, I saw it—engraved into the brass pendulum she swings upon.

A sacred shape:

An eight-pointed star, spiraling with elegant curves and ancient knowing. A symbol born of witchcraft and cosmic wisdom.

A mark of the eternal.

A seal of spirit.A spell forged in time.

Clamantine’s sorrow… her longing… her love—it’s all woven into that swing.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Waiting to be heard.

Now she is.

Now she is safe.

And when she chimes next Thursday, it won’t be the sound of mourning. It will be the sound of return.Of rebirth.

Of love reclaiming its place.

Clamantine is not just a clock.

She is a vow made sacred.

She is the breath between seconds.

She is the sacred rhythm of our home.

And she is finally… home.

—Darklady