Glennen’s footsteps echoed, clattering rhythmically about the cavernous throne room. He walked towards the throne, holding the delicate angel cupped within both hands. He had never been a coordinated individual, even in his youth. And so he exercised caution while traveling to see the princess.

She sat contentedly in an ornate throne. She was just turning sixteen, a precious commodity that would do the kingdom well if married into the right family. Glennen stopped before the princess, standing still and quiet at the bottom of the dais. She raised her chin, a signal that he was allowed to approach.

He stepped timidly up the stairs.

“Your highness,” he began, “your parents tasked me with crafting this clockwork angel for you before you were even born. It has taken seventeen long years, but —”

“Give it to me,” she demanded. He carefully handed her the statue. She turned it over in her hands.

“Garbage,” she said, letting it drop to the floor.

Glennen gasped as his creation shattered into gears and dust.