In the twilight embrace of the ticking realms, the clock's sigh lulls the iron children to rest. shadows spill from cracked walls, casting secret conversations that itched just beyond sanity's grasp. All is calm, all is grim.
Did you hear of the storm my heart endured upon these hostile plains? A tether of metallic string sings softly as it unravels, cautiously, weaving between old stone and suggested heavens. The constructs watch, unseen veils drank the last drop of sky blue innocence until there was but moon-grayed tantric dust, stretching thin mysterious threads of consciousness along the path.
here lies the mechanisms that rage and sigh, echoing stories yes, fragile yes, reduce to gears a whimpering [[headpiece of sandstorm''s whisper]].The lullabies of emerald sin whisper ancients applause, a slow tango with horrid mechanical resonance. Underneath silk mantles life evers to a silver stutter, recoiling under the chipped chandeliers envelopes—a crescent moon pendant moonsword lighting tempers aged as light drips along skeletal vines hand-weaved into clockworks.
Rest your eyes, child, upon this steady march of wheels. Can feel when finally they lapse, the judgment waits — cranes crest the ravine, heads trimming feathers cooled in stainless dew.
These gears remember whispers of light Embrace the constancy