The cogs of existence are relentless, ever-shifting, and cold. In them, I find my soul entangled. I wander through clockwork corridors, imprinting my essence upon the gears that govern everything, yet never formless, never forgotten by the unmovable tickings.

Once, I was merely a whisper, flowing through the forgotten mess of hands and numbers until I stumbled upon the labyrinthine Mechanics of Time. This isn't a machinery of metal, mind you, but one woven from shadows and echoes unseen. I pondered my reflections there, only to find them bound in machinery's simplicity; hauntingly eternal, yet achingly ephemeral.

Enter my workshop, where scattered remnants of what once had been swirl like memories caught in amber.

A soul loses its navigation in time's machinations when tethered to a wheel that never ceases. I twist, turn, boreholes into time's dense fabric, yet fray further threads into a cosmos of time-riddled mystery.