A heart of cold shimmering steel never stopped this poor lost soul, as he thundered across the vast planes he would hear whispers of words that he wished so much were for him. Sounds reverberate and drum through his hard shell, smooth metal creases and folds, bolts to hold him together yet so apart does he always feel.
Hallow are the marks on his heavy mask, where eyes should be lay two small rocks jammed into his frame, his hands are not allowed to feel the soft blades of swaying grass nor his feet in the soft soil as they heave and pound with each step.
He was not crafted with a soul in mind, but a soul did he receive. No mouth for him to wish upon the world, only curious iron fingers that delicately trace happy faces in the dirt, friends, family, a whole world where he is no longer the unusual exception, but a welcomed member.