[ɪnˈvɛnʃ(ə)n]

The action of inventing something, typically a process or device

Necessity is the mother of invention, yet the boundaries blur ever more between the definitions of needing and wanting.

What creatures of indulgence we are.

Donghae brushed his hair out of his eyes for the umpteenth time; the soft silky strands constantly slipping out of the short tie he always made whenever he worked. The golden light of the sunset streamed from the shop window and cast a silhouette over his small form; imprinting his outline on the endless shelves of books which made up the back wall.

He was surrounded by a silence marred only by the faintest of ticks and whirs. The toys which filled every inch of table space visible whistled and clacked to themselves; operated by the tiniest and most delicate of machinery which filled them.

It had always been this way. Donghae had always been surrounded by the chattering of his many friends. He was never alone.

He hitched the large round glasses further up his nose with a small huff as the thin gold frame slipped further down his nose. The magnifier connected to the right lens allowed him to work with utmost precision and accuracy; the minute wires and iron pieces otherwise invisible to the eye.

The duck lay splayed open on the workbench; its white layer of faux feathers peeled back to reveal the wood and metal interior. A small square of the shell had been removed; exposing the interwoven labyrinth of machinery which allowed it to waddle about, quack at intervals and clack its wooden beak open and shut.

It was Donghae's first attempt at making such a complex piece, having watched over his brother's shoulder as he breathed emotions and thoughts and life into his creations.

The toys scattered about the room were all his; simple, yet charming works which hooted and fluttered about all day, settling down only