Sanyelle was a fairy, though her wings were too small for flight.

What she could not do in the air, she made up for with her hands, for she was clever with gears and springs. And sometimes, when she built with all her heart, her little creations would stir, blink, and live.

Was it her craft, or some secret gift? Even she never knew.

She lived inside a great clock, and in that hollow world she had a family.

There was Pip, round and busy, clumsy but eager to help.

Pip adored attention, demanded breakfasts and dinners he could never eat, and yet always made the table bright with laughter.

There was Mizzle, zealous and noisy, a creature that tried its very best — though whether it was a cat or a dog, no one has ever really found out.

When it chases shadows, the racket is tremendous, and after the flood its antics only grew stranger. But Sanyelle loved it all the same.

And there was Plenderobius, solemn and sharp-eyed. He was not warm, nor particularly friendly, but he was wise in his way, and Sanyelle admired him ... perhaps even wished she could be like him one day (he could fly!).

Together they made lanterns blaze like stars among the gears.

They ventured into forgotten corners of the world, saved Mizzle when he strayed too far, and always, always gathered at the table, as a family should.

Yet for all their adventures, there was one thing Sanyelle feared.

Once, long ago, all the ticking of her clock fell silent at once.

For that moment she was not a maker or a dreamer.

Only a tiny fairy in a

vast,

silent,

empty world.

Since then she has built and built, winding life into brass and cogs.
For it is the ticking, and the laughter, and the little voices (even the ones made of gears and sparks) that are the music she clings to in a world all too quiet.