Gilbert & Thekla

It was a bitter weary winter, along cobbled paths 'neath gaslights glow. Each cacodemoniacal reproach scintillated, there he would skip a heartbeat. You kept walking, knowing who'd awaited you. The epitomes of human intelligence, the best of the best. You didn't want to disappoint; your works were seldom approved by critics. Your reputation on the line like a soldier in the trenches. They prattle on "Your philosophy and knowledge is pointless," as you try to ignore the 'cacodemoniacal' and 'ombibulous' ultracrepidarians. The cacophonous, clamorous utterances crescendoed becoming ever harder to dismiss. You could barely hear yourself breath. Then you arrive, the voices go away. The center of thoughts becomes ingrained in veridicality when you touched the gelid portal-latch. As you enter the antechamber, you could hear the fluorescent lights buzzing harshly. It smelled of rust and ozone, as if the atmosphere itself remembered. It certainly wasn't cold, nor comfortable. Normally you'd be zealous in a situation as such; but this time was different. As he exited the antechamber, into the lab, he heard some kind of machine. The machine, sounded like humming dials, flashing lights, etheric resonators, oscillating levers. Before you even saw it; you were already clad in awe. "What was this machine?" you thought. You tentatively look around the corner, expecting some impromptu machine. Thekla: “Ah! You see? It hums like the heartbeat of the cosmos itself!” Gilbert: "I told you, some theory isn’t meant for preening, Thekla. Focus." “What is this… exactly?” you say. Thekla: “You’ll see. Or perhaps… you won’t.”