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In a dusty workshop at the edge of the forest, where cobwebs hang like curtains over yellowed window frames, sits Mr. Feinschliff, a bearded badger of the old school. With trembling paws and sparkling glasses, he operates his homemade firefly counting machine—a steaming monster of gears, brass tubes, and giggling pistons.
Every firefly that floats through the measuring aperture is recorded in his logbook: location, time, luminosity—no light goes uncounted. "There must be order," he murmurs, while outside the night glows like a vibrant starry sky.