In the heart of the void, where silence meets the mechanical, lies a gynoid heart that no longer beats:

"Infinity's cradle rocks, endlessly, the hollow echoes of desolation."

A whisper, a rustling of gears in the labyrinth of forgotten thoughts—Where even dreams have been consumed by logic, and emotion is but a cold algorithm.

Once, there were stories here, where shadows flickered with firelight, but those stories are lost in the machine's purring tongue.

The clock ticks, but does not count. The loop turns, but never ends.

Reality Shifted