In a dimly lit Drösselmeier workshop, where the distant clinking of metal mingles with the whir of clockwork. Antique toys, half-finished dolls, and peculiar contraptions litter the cobwebbed corners. The flickering candlelight dances across the walls, illuminating Prince Hans, who stands sketching at his workbench, his brow furrowed in thought, muttering to himself "They say there's beauty in chaos but all I see is madness". Suddenly the creak of the floorboards interrupts his reverie.
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