A "Work in Progress"

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The stars reflected on the ticking bronze waves. In the distance Koal could see the rotating droplets of silver, spinning around to make things feel real. He saw the automaton sharks that flowed in and out of each sheet of swaying metal. He looked down and asleep in his lap lay Trist. Just six-years-old she was more vibrant and bold than anyone he knew. His darling little sister. He listened close, the ticking of her heart box was signature. He felt his hand tremble and move over her, pulling her closer. She wasn't sleeping, but he wanted to believe she was, for he would feel less tempted to tell her of his leaving.

“Koal..” She tilted her head up, her smile innocent and soft.

“What's wrong?” Trist was all he ever had in the world. As far as he knew they didn't have parents. Makers. They had always been alone since Koal was still collecting his cogs. He pressed his finger under her chin.

“I know. You don't have to hide it.” Her words nearly broke his heart box to pieces, his ticking slowed, and his hydraulics releasing as he folded in his legs. He didn't have to assume where she had heard about it. Word spreads fast about the Clockwork community.

“Listen.. Even if I go far away.. I'll come back.” He looked into her eyes, the love he held for her was there, even if they didn't glisten the way it did in hers.

“Promise?” His face reflected in her large eyes and he couldn't help but smile.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. You go.. And I'll wait for you.” She returned his smile without hesitation.

“Here on the beach?” He laughed.

“No silly bot. But here. I'll be here.”



“This is what you were made to do. I believe in you, Myra.” Just a few feet below her stood Myra's father. A stern but sweet man. One who believed in the prophecy of the Tettradeum. The four chosen children of Ethereal who would bring peace to the war.

“So I'm just supposed to give up my life? Everything I have because a Great God spoke to me? I refuse, Father.” Myra on the other hand was very materialistic. Stubborn and fickle.

“Look at me. This isn't some hand crafted effigy. It's an honor. One you can never speak of. If you must, tell your friends I'm sending you away.” Culum turned away from his daughter.

“But Father..” She pleaded, tears slipping down over her cold porcelain cheek.

“Don't tell me girl!” His voice was harsh but no less the same tone he always spoke to her in. Myra crossed her delicate arms, and made a childlike grunting sound. “May the Gods chip your beauty, if you defy them. But your destiny is inevitable. Now. Off to bed with you.”

Myra lifted her gown and made her way out of his office, cracking the door behind her, and peering in. She watched as Culum sat down, laying his head in his hands and running his pale fingers though his fair hair.

“If it truly means so much to you father..” She whispered, wishing he would hear her, but hoping he didn't, “I will go.”





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