In the shadowed recesses of the grand metallic cathedral, where wires mimic veins and engines thrum with lifeless zeal, the Mechanical Heart calculates. Here, upon the altar of cold refinement, destinies are spun from threads of rusting logic.
Encased within brass and chrome, the Heart silently contemplates actions of the cosmos: tokens for reprisal gently placed upon the scales. Time, an infinite loop, measuring desire not with warmth but through the unyielding click of gears.
Each gear, a distant echo of purpose, turns with intention unknown to the unseeing eye. The Heart beats not for love, nor for longing, but for balance and equity, executing equations with sterile precision.