Dear reader, the clockwork heart beats beneath our feet, an orchestra of rust and rhythm. It whispers secrets only the shadow of a forgotten finger can touch, leaving traces of phantom warmth in the air like the breath of bygone summers. Listen closely, for within its metallic sighs lie truths cloaked in ghostly veils.
In the labyrinth of lost gears, where the scent of oil mingles with the dust of eternity, we find the remnants of a story untold. Here, in this world of ancient machinery, the touch of a dreamer is felt, guiding unseen hands as they weave a tapestry of whispers and echoes. Do the cogs remember what we, the living, have long forgotten?
Chase the echoes through the corridors of time and space: