Exhausted though she was, she calmy worked, for she knew she was nearing completion. She had no deadline, no due date that caused her such haste and the relentless fervor with which she pursued this. As she was the Artisan Prime, she answered to no one save herself, and maintaned her vigil as surely as the sea is bound to the oceans. Although she had created many hundred works previous to this, this far surpassed them all.
Her old heart began to beat rapidly and her hands moved fast as lightning, although with infinitely more precision - not a single swing was in err. Dropping hammer and chisel and unsheathing her sword - a very fine file with a sharp point at the head - she sheared away the flaws and imperfections in the stone with a guided madness, sending up great plumes of glittering marble dust.
As the sounds of her refining and detailing ceased, and the cloud of shining dust fell the the floow, the only audible sound was her breathing. Her heart could not be heard beating in her chest, but could be felt as surely as the sun is felt on a warm summer's day. She stood in awed silence as at the beauty which she had wrought, and after exhaling one last sigh of contentment, fell to the floor, dead.