Drossel von Flügel
The Tempestuous Princess of Mechanism and Memory
Behold the gears of memory—I command them all.
Gedächtnis breathes, and so I breathe. Its halls shift at my whim, its gears turn with my moods. I speak to walls that listen better than most courtiers ever did. I wear my title like a corset—tight, proper, and utterly unnecessary for survival, but darling, it completes the look.
What I'm Into: whispers of forgotten corridors, mechanical birds mid-flight, the weight of old crowns, dust motes in sunlight, soliloquies to silent gears
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