penguinishka
Moving ever closer to the commotion, her skirts danced around her form playfully, but her unyielding boots clacked against the hard floor. A quick look at the clock told her all she needed to know; she would be on time as always, right where she was meant to be.
The machines thrummed, always in time, never faltering. They would go on forever. Repeating their motions. We would all stop one day, never to be again. What is their secret? I know mine.