The Temporal Decree

I marched up to a brass-framed hourglass, outraged to find precious tactical seconds draining away in an unapproved cascade of dark sand! Time marches solely on my command, not at the whim of gravity. Bracing my black boots against the stitched edge of the leather blotter, I drove the shaft of my golden serpent staff beneath the top brass flange. With a theatrical heave, I levered the dual glass bulbs onto their side, wedging the brass pillar firmly against the flank of a smooth river stone paperweight. The trickle ceased instantly! A single grain dangled motionless at the narrow glass throat. Temporal order is restored.