A funeral engine the size of a pair of cupped palms. Fibrous, iridescent carapace that reheals when split open. A placid face atop.

For the burial of stillborn princes.

Interred in the Loom, they are laid to rest in a stone vault the size of a grown man and brimmed with organic slurry. Over time, the Loom renders the liquified meat. It knits skin, stitches bone for the never-was king. Pristine muscle ripples under dead flesh. Regal hair sprouts roughly from a clammy scalp. Within the span of a single moon, a fully formed corpse lies in the grave, wearing a tranquil death mask and wielding a midnight black repeater & delicate blade of chitinous lustre.