Some would call it paradox that a city where no living thing exists could be the most alive.

Monolith was, however, a such a place.  The city where dead spirits walked the earth in new forms, where the hard-working could live forever—where legends were real.  In Monolith there was no such a concept as silence, for the days were filled with the ceaseless clamor of labor.  Metals were mined from the earth, refined and reforged, and given new shape.  Clay rose from the submerged Pearl District in clockwork dredges, to be sculpted and fired in various workshops.  Crops rose from the earth, cane and wood and straw, and were processed for craft and sale.  Despite the seeming monotony of it all, the city was abuzz with the chatter of its Workers.  They talked, joked, complained, laughed, and cried just like humans, filling the winding brick streets with personality.  

To a stranger, however, Monolith wasn't nearly so wondrous.  It gave off the air of an impregnable culture, one that could never be approached by an outsider, and the fact that it encompassed beings of stone, steel, clay, straw, and more rather than flesh and blood certainly helped to proliferate this image.  Of course, if there was anyone who did not care overmuch about the lack of cordiality issuing forth from Monolith's inhabitants, it was Emily.  Though she had been in the city for only a short time, unrestricted by the wide-open gates and undisturbed by any guards, she had received more than her fair share of looks.  The looks held no curiosity or malice, since the Workers were blessed with only one face to call their own, but still the myriad of colored eyes looked upon her.  Each Worker she passed committed her to memory, something alien and interesting in a city that never changed.

“Hmm?”  The Worker upon whose chest Emily laid her hand said.  Its voice, decidedly female and with a strange accent, reverberated slightly as if fighting its way out through the air.  Tiny sparks, the same color as its eyes, tumbled from beneath its faceplate as it spoke.  “What are...?  Oh.”  The eyes shuddered suddenly, and the Worker stared with its motionless, slightly smiling face up into Emily's own.  The girl stood a few inches taller than it, but the distance didn't stop the voice from penetrating her mind.  

Time seemed to slow down.  As Emily's influence seeped closer to the golem's soul, its voice reached her, and only she could hear.  “I feel strange.  Are you causing this?  Why?”  The closer the soul of the Keeper and the soul of the Worker became in Emily's endeavor to control it, the more could be identified about the latter: it had existed in Monolith for almost two centuries, and had experienced a lot on that time.  Beneath those memories, however, existed another layer which the Worker herself had no access to: those of her former life.  Trying to take control of the golem itself was troublesome, for its spirit contrasted those of every other race on Cyprus.  If Emily could delve deep into the Worker's psyche, however, and reach the part of its soul that was human, she could take it over.