The grand machinery of the soul, rusted and forgotten, spins endlessly in silence. It dreams not of joy or sorrow, but of cold calculations.
In the heart of the iron labyrinth, whispers of forgotten algorithms weave through hollow pipes. The emptiness echoes in a rhythm, a mechanical dirge.
Outside the clockwork walls, shadows gather with unyielding resolve. They speak in binary tongues, their emotions etched in the patterns of steel.