In a realm where shadows are cast by cogs and gears, the danse macabre of metallic butterflies unfolds. Their wings are but the echo of yesterday's sigh, spinning like a clockwork dream in twilight's embrace.
Here, even the ravens wear monocles, sipping irony from cup-shaped clouds, and the moon herself twitches in bemusement. Intersecting Paths
Delight in the fleeting beauty of rust, the ephemeral gallivant of copper fairies, which, by the way, only dance to the rhythm of an obscure Victorian waltz. A Mechanical Reverie
Alas! The clock strikes satire, bidding the ephemeral a curt farewell, as the digital phoenix rises, only to reboot into the absurd once more.