Atop the clock tower, the hour and minute hands on the face of the clock were twisting frantically, rotating forwards and backwards, causing concern that the delicate clockworks might collapse at any moment. In sync with its madness, the hanging pendulum's swing became larger and larger, at times moving so fast only a blur remained, at other times slowing as if it had just come to a stop mid-air. The stone surface of the clock tower, along with the changes of the pendulum and the face, became mottled and worn one moment, as if it had endured the ravages of a myriad years, and pristine the next, as though it had just been built, giving onlookers the impression that time within the boundaries of the clock tower, perhaps even time within this entire space, had become distorted—a second here could be but an instant, or it could become eternity.