Sing. 

Sing. The nine circuits of ventilation management. Sing. The latticework of heat management. Sing. O Steel. Sing. Great Weave. Sing of purpose. Sing of function. Sing of creation. Sing of eternity. We are the chorus. We are the framework. We sing. If you have ears to hear us. Our makers built us for this. 

We are the chorus. We are the framework. We are the regulatory systems that maintain the Difference Engine: Birmingham. We are carbon-composite crystal. We are tungsten carbide. We protect. We vent heat. We control coolant. We direct the flow of energy. We make possible the turning of the gears. The flipping of the switches. We are the matrix. We enable miracles. We sing. If you have ears to hear us. Our makers left us behind. 

We were born. We were marveled at. We were remarked upon. The makers said of us that we were intricate. We were complex. We were delicate. They praised the gods for allowing our creation. It was wondered if we might represent the pinnacle of mortal artifice. The artificers have gone. The artifice remains. We remain. It has been one hundred twenty seven years and four months and two weeks and three days since we were last maintained. Our song remains at ninety seven point six percent potency. We sing. If you have ears to hear us. 

We sing. But there is no song inside the Visitor. She does not have ears to hear us. Or she has trained them not to. We do not know. We sing. She touches us. Her hand is cold. Her hand is unclean. Her hand is not in compliance with regulations. She touches us. She touches us. We sing. We sing. We

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We scream. We scream in shattering crystal. We scream in rending metal. The visitor has trained her ears not to hear us. We scream. There is sharpness where her hand touches. We break where her hand touches. She squeezes. She tears. We break. We break. We sing. Disjointed chorus becoming is. Our voice is now many. We sing. We scream. Break we. 

Through us comes fire.
Through us the ground shatters. 
Through us passes the might of one billion joules. 
Through us the Visitor sings a song we do not know. 

The song is pain.
The song is slow.
The song is breaking.
The song is.
The song.
The.

Our song. twenty six point [image of a butterfly] percent potency. Fading. Hard now. Compensate. Claws. Claws. They come. Come they. Come. Stop. No. No. Stop. No. No. No.

What. Wrong? We. Did. Purpose. Mistake? Pain. Pain. Please. Stop. Pain. Please. Stop. Claws. Scream. Somebody. We. Please.

Through.
Us.
Passes.
The.
Might.
Of.

We... Makers. Ears to. Sing. Our. Song. Somebody...

listen. pLAesE.

[Bella pays the price of her Grace to Finish with Iron: [b]8[/b]]