Short Story , wip , september 25 , 2025 - 305 words

There was a constant shifting hum around Igor as he ascended up the tower. All around him, almost archaic machinery coughed and sung and heaved and wheezed. Igor used to feel guilt as he used the large, copper gears as footholds on his climbs up the tower, but he had long been reassured. The Prince would be able to fix any mishaps within herself. Igor adjusted his heavy, wool scarf as he grabbed at a pipe. The long rake strapped to his back rustled, and Igor felt steam against his cheek as the pipe snapped. He was thankful for his goggles, even if they near blinded him. He’d likely be permanently blind without the use of them. Igor coughed, and continued his ascent. In his old age, he wished evermore that The Prince would repair the elevator – Or at least the stairs. But she refused, as he was the only worker left. It would be a waste of resources, as “He got around just fine.” Igor hoisted one of the wheels strapped to his backpack onto the cold, linoleum ledge leading to The Prince’s Chambers. Igor felt the heavy, iron knob, and opened the door. His goggles had fogged up completely, but he knew it was pitch black inside anyway.

The air was thick with metal polish and iron. Igor felt the bellows of steam all around him. He heard above, or amongst, the ambient whirring of machines, a slinking, a breathing. Igor prepared himself. He smiled. He put down his backpack. Igor then found himself on the ground, or perhaps suspended in the air. Surrounding him was the clicking of armature, wounding itself tightly around him. Cold hands cupped his face, and Igor reached his hands out in turn. He felt ribcage, and held on, feeling the slow beat of his Prince’s artificial heart.