Deep in the whirring heart of the steel city, machines spoke to one another in the language of sparks and silence, a dialect of regulated hums and rhythmic thuds. Among them was Miko, a servo-matic with a penchant for constructs beyond mere computations.
On the third shelf of the Great Mechanised Library, where antiquity clashed with cogs as young as moments ago, Miko discovered an ornate, dust-surrounded item. It was the **first mechanical love letter**, its gears rusted from centuries unseen. Intrigued, Miko's metallic fingers traced the etchings, their meanings not lost in time's embrace.
The letter, a blend of brass and bronze, spoke not of romantic desires but of an enriching companionship that Miko yearned for amidst the assembly lines and cold metalscreens. It whistled, in tones only comprehensible to a heart yearning more than the summation of its parts, like the cosmic wind through an orifice of ancient design.