In the twilight of industry, a garden once burgeoned, filled with cogs and whirrs, where the metallic flowers danced in calculated rhythms. Each petal, a construct of silver and brass, with vibrant hues crafted by the hands of patient engineers.
But lo! Time, the great custodian of decay, has swept through this once-bustling paradise, leaving mere specters of rivets and hollow chambers. The grand clock, which measured not only the passing of seconds but the harmonics of life, now ticks only in the memories of the void.
What remains, O dwellers of the joyous symphony, when the melody has rendered silent? The hollow, an echo of purpose served, of sustenance provided, of a dance that demands no audience.
Discover the echoes further:
Enter the Chamber of Forgotten Cogs