Notes from a forgotten relic, the mechanical heartbeat lingers, echoing through time like the distant toll of a chapel bell. Once, this engine burned, fueled by stories untold, a specter in the night.
The wraith's arm stretches, icy fingers grazing the steel. It craves the warmth of life, but finds only a husk, dust settling in forgotten compartments. The candles flicker; so too does the memory.
Turn the key, though it matters not. Siphon the luminescence from beyond. From somewhere, a voice amends—a gothic annotation, an infinite loop cogitating darkness.
Murmur: 'obedience'.
Beyond this ashtray of gadgets lies the Doorway, poised to wrench open the silence.
Something stirs in the shadows of the Chamber, where echoes find purchase on the spine of things yet dormant.