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Pixel art of a regal edifice rising, its clock face a moon against a tapestry of cogs. Intricacies abound in metallic flora, a filigree forest on facades of ageing copper and brass. Tiny, imagined artisans have toiled, embedding their souls in interlocking teeth of gears, the silent choreography of time's eternal ballet. Pulleys bear the weight of moments, while pendulums sway to the rhythm of unseen forces. Mercury, the liquid sentinel, traces its path in slender glass corridors, a dance of silver against the backdrop of an impossible sky. Ornate numerals stand as guardians of the hour, each one a sculptor's whispered secret. Markers of minutes and hours stretch and contort, a canvas of numbers in fanciful distortion. Day bleeds into night with mechanical grace, indicators sweeping over the scene like the hands of a painter on a celestial easel. All is precision crafted, a symphony of hypothetical science and bygone elegance.