Keeper of Pauses

Why does the pain of losing loved ones dull over time, leaving behind a quiet, bright sadness? Rationalists will say that we just forget. The inhabitants of Kemmes believe that this pain is carefully taken away by the mysterious Keeper of Pauses.
 
They say he is the embodiment of the pause between inhalation and exhalation, the interval between sleep and reality. He looks like a skeleton in a perfectly pressed tailcoat and with a top hat. In one bony hand he holds a cane for beating time, in the other — a pocket watch, the hands of which froze forever ago.
 
When the longing for the departed becomes unbearable and louder than the ticking of any clock, the Keeper appears to the sufferer. He doesn't say a word, but only turns the key on his watch. And time freezes. In the absolute silence that has arisen, the world is thinning out: a barely perceptible scent of perfume is wafted, an echo of a long-standing laugh flies by, a fleeting touch is felt.
 
This is not a phenomenon from the other world. It's a sign. A quiet, barely audible message: "It's all right. We're here. You have to move on."
 
Having done his job, the Keeper of the Pauses takes off his hat in a silent bow and disappears as silently as he appeared. He takes with him a sip of time filled with pain, leaving relief in return. It serves as a reminder that the true connection between the worlds is not in the moments counted by the mechanism, but in eternity, which hides in the pauses between them.