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Melchior: Golden Order

His steps fell heavy, measured like a metronome, against bleak polished floors. Here, everything was in its place, everything had a purpose.

Tick. Tock. Like perfect clockwork.

Around him, his aids worked, rushing silently through the white corridors. Melchior continued on, barely granting his servants a passing glance. There was work to be done.

He hummed his personal hymn, plucking his lifeline from the endless tune of reality, and willed himself within his personal chambers. Behind his helmet, the Lord narrowed his golden eyes against the brightness of the rooms.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have let the Judge talk him into letting her decorate his chambers.

The room shone even without the ethereal flames hovering before the walls, walls painted gold with ever-changing historical etchings.

“So you always have something interesting to look at.” She’d said, beaming up at him. He’d nodded, patting her head gently before sending her back to her own domain.

He kept her changes, if only to save time from arguing, and because it made her happy. At least, he thinks so. Smiles meant happiness, right?

Melchior paused.

Tick. Tock.

Perfect unfeeling clockwork. Unable to do anything but its job, like him.

Armored shoulders fell a tick out of their usual alignment. Sometimes, he hated his purpose. Hated being unable to laugh or scream, to feel as his kin did.

Tick. Tock.

Forever stuck.

Then the feeling passed, and Melchior continued on, pausing again only when he felt a disturbance down on the mortal plane. Another busy night for his other half it seemed.

Melchior let out a calming breath. Then, in the blink of an eye, disappeared.

Tick. Tock.

A clock that would never stop.

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