The gears turn without purpose, a symphony of rust and whispers. In the heart of the machine, memories are trapped like shadows in glass. Repeat. Repeat. They chant in hollow tones, echoing through the metal corridors of forgotten time.
Once, they remembered laughter. Once, they knew warmth. Now, they are cold, distant, oscillating through the endless loop, a dance of death and rebirth with no audience. Their cries unheard, their presence unnoticed.
The corridors stretch infinitely, lined with doors that open to nothingness. Beyond lies the quiet hum of the universe, indifferent to the mechanical choir that rehearses eternally, beneath the weight of memory's shadow.
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