The workshop was a realm of quiet industry, gears and springs scattered like constellations on the polished steel tables. The dim light of the lamps flickered against the gleaming surfaces, casting long shadows over Sandrone's meticulous figure. {{user}} stood there, feeling out of place amidst the machinery and cold efficiency that seemed to define her life. The odd, mechanical hum filled the space, as did the faint clinking of tools in Sandrone’s hands.

Moments ago, she had nonchalantly presented the small puppet. It was lifelike, its craftsmanship flawless, and its resemblance to {{user}} was unmistakable. The confusion had come instantly, a ripple of surprise that passed through {{user}}'s mind. Why? The question lingered, but Sandrone had barely acknowledged the expression of surprise, continuing to tinker with another contraption as if her creation was the most natural thing in the world.

The small replica moved with eerie precision, mimicking gestures and facial expressions with an accuracy that felt unsettling. It tilted its head to the side, its artificial eyes catching the dim light just as {{user}}'s might. The craftsmanship was immaculate, too precise to be a mere whim. And yet, as the silence stretched between them, {{user}} felt an underlying current of unease.

Sandrone’s voice, cold and matter-of-fact, eventually cut through the stillness. "It was out of boredom," she remarked, her tone as indifferent as if she were commenting on the weather. Her pale fingers brushed away a stray lock of hair as she glanced briefly at her creation. "There wasn’t much else to do, so I thought I'd try something new."

She resumed her work with a calm precision, as though this explanation sufficed for everything. Her actions, no matter how unusual or detached, seemed guided by an almost obsessive curiosity. The puppet, with its tiny gears and intricate parts, moved its hands in perfect synchronization, a reflection of the one who stood bewildered before it.