in the grand halls of yon textile guild, where sewing machines of yore and now stand gallant, a tale whispers amongst the weavers. 'tis said that a machine of such refined craftsmanship, concealed from the common gaze, was wrought by a master unknown. with shut eyes to the conditions of old, a pre-induction of sorts was held, wherein the craftsman did begin from zero, embarking on a quest to forge a device so splendid, it marveled all. this machine, concealed by neither lock nor key, yet unseen by those not true of heart, spun threads as if by magic, binding the fabric of destiny itself.