Wrought from the depths of a wound not at all neglected by the surreal anger of the earth, a cold construct comes to life. Its steps are pressed into the orange sand inches ahead of where its foot falls and it heaves itself through the cycle of animation and fabrication. Why am I- The cosmos are cruel indeed. Every cycle brings forth a new inquiry, a new level of hell as fluctuating as the wavelengths shared between the sea and the shore. The ocean floor was in a curious juxtaposition of lost sea gods and sunken ships. Trundling alone across the ocean floor had granted it a metaphor of unfathomable depth. As it looked towards the pillars above, tendrils of dark breached the cracked stones around it, allowing the shadows to creep across the luminous grounds feeding the premonitions of doom that echoed from beyond the rocks. For what purpose does- Immortality is despair. To exist as something that time can touch must be beautiful. Grief ridden and slowly being crushed by a perennial execution, the spawn of malicious intent and a sense of retribution is slowly being coerced into the tendrils of the outside. With each step, the opalescent figurine melded into its chest grows brighter, as if drawing power from the prospect of reaching home.