#6

TIIIIINNNG! The first strike of the clock signal's the start of #6's day. Nimble children's hands were best suited to crafting the miniature gears essential for the city's functions. Wake. Create. Sleep. Repeat. #6 did not want to be an outlier; outliers are culled. However, on the odd occasion #6 was not under observation, she would take a small detour. Season after season, #6 would return to a family of black mice - perhaps only so from the thick soot - in a crevice near the outer city wall. Wear and tear led to cracks in the cobbled stone walls surrounding the city, where these little friends would flit in and out. What was their purpose? How did they fit the model? What did they observe beyond that wall?
 
#6 began to collect metal scraps; not so many that anyone would notice, but enough to begin to fashion her own mechanical mouse. The sides were crumpled and the mechanisms crunched instead of gliding, but this creation was hers and a small island of joy in a sea of suffering. At the next chance to see the mice, she took her construct to show them! She kneeled down on lowering her weight onto her blackened elbows and placed the metallic mouse at the crack in the wall. As always, the 5 black mice scurried in. This time, they did not climb the twisted horns of #6. The small pack lofted their look-a-like and carried it outside the walls. #6 peered out, watching as 5 tails and a glisten kept going.
 
She returned to the same spot, bringing a new scrap mouse with each visit. Her craftsmanship and speed improved, leaving the subsequent creations more and more life-like. The mice began to play and squeak like before, but would always end their visit running off into the distance with their new addition to the group. When #6 returned for the 10th time, and placed her work at the crevice a voice whispered "These are lovely creations and now I see where my helpers had spent so much time. Do you have a name? I’m Forsyl" A stout figured popped into sight with a well-worn apron tied around his waist, and #6 shook her head. "How about I call you Ohva?" He told Ohva about his workshop, the mice he raised, and how they started bringing back metallic mice. What he did not tell Ohva at first was how the renditions began to buzz and hum, and the latest one intermittently projected fuzzy images of a young girl - Ohva. (Cue montage of "toddler trying to unlock a tablet" photos of nostrils because Ohva had no idea she was able to do that). He offered to take Ohva and teach her what he knew about toymaking, carving, whittling, and the like to which she eagerly agreed. Ohva traded her metalworking for a carving knife and began to separate herself from the cold, mechanical past.
 
After 1 year had passed, Ohva grew more and more adventurous with her figurines. Dolls, dragons, birds, but most of all she loved her mice. One morning, after Ohva had just sat down with a wetted paintbrush, a knock on the door interrupted her work. “Ohva? A friend of mine is here to meet you.” She placed down her brush, and gave a little pat on the head to her newest creation before heading through the doorway. As she breached the threshold Ohva heard, “I had to pull a favor, but we did find a spot for her this year.” The graceful caretaker turned to greet Ohva, “I heard all about your carvings and toys. I’m sure you’ve noticed as well that in your hands they become more than just playthings. How would you like to come to our academy and learn how to make your friends more life-like?”
 
Ohva recoiled. No. nononononononononono. She didn’t know what this “academy” was but she did not like the sound of being trapped in bubble for years to come. She struggled more against her thoughts… #6… TIIIIINNGG
 
Forsyl scooped the young tiefling and cupped her hands away from her face. He explained more about what she could learn under the great guidance of Ioth and shared his own stories with a heart laugh. Ohva began to understand that this was not an end to her freedom, but another beginning – one even further from infernal rule. She asked Forsyl for a memento to keep her company, and before she left he slipped a hand-crafted mouse carved from the branch of an old willow tree, with the words “Never alone, always free” scripted onto the left hind paw.