The Crypt of Cog Parts

Ancient Mechanisms Whispering

• The heart of the machine — Veins of iron among the shadows (tick and tock, yet no rhythm flows)
• Cylinders weaving the fabric of silence (they creak with tales of forgotten summers)
• Pulleys that hold time in a crooked balance (they know not joy, only cessation)

The sanctum lies within the hidden, untouched corners of the built cosmos, where gears meet in eternal nocturne dances, whispering their forgotten echoes. In this place, parts of cog, both minute and grand, lay in somnolent vigil beneath dust-laden veils. Yet, the ink is invisible; the ink is dark...

which hidden carousel turns?
waltz with fickle time!