The photograph captures Seraphine Vale, the mysterious muse of the eccentric genius, Alaric Montrose โ the reclusive clockmaker of 1890s Vienna whose automata were so lifelike they were rumored to have souls. Seraphine was said to have appeared at his workshop one snowy evening, dressed in lace and silk the color of twilight and flame. She didnโt knock. She simply walked in, smiled, and said, โYouโve been dreaming of me.โ
Montrose, who hadnโt spoken to another living soul in months, was stunned. She looked exactly like the face he had carved in porcelain dozens of times โ the face on every one of his mechanical dancers, ballerinas, and violinists. But none of them moved quite like her. None had that fire in their eyes, or that melody in their laugh. She was living poetry.
They became inseparable. She inspired his final and most ambitious project: a life-sized clockwork theater with a single performer โ a mechanical version of Seraphine. 14 replies
3 recasts
76 reactions
0 reply
0 recast
1 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
1 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
1 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
1 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
