A lone, clockwork figure stands in a vast, dim corridor of mirrors without reflections. Its metallic exterior appears flawless and unbroken, yet from within its chest, a swirling galaxy of shimmering, prismatic light strains against a transparent barrier. The figure’s face is still and void of expression, as thin tendrils of liquid stardust seep from its cheeks and evaporate in the air, never allowed to fully release. The corridor extends endlessly, a hush of tense expectation filling the space.