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Godliness in Stone

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  Scene 1 It smells like… time down here. Not just damp earth or rot, but something older. A primal scent that’s been waiting in the dark for a millennium. I’m recording this at the bottom of the scar somewhere in the anomaly. In my mind, it's called the Necropolis Gully . My helmet is trying to map it—casting these sterile, digital grids over the moss and the stone—but the data doesn’t make sense. It’s glitching. It’s shuddering against the reality of this place. I don't know why I'm here, looking at ruins. Just... debris. But in the ruins, I found the ghosts of a future that never happened. I was walking over shards of polymerised memories . This was once a city.  It was meant to be the heart of a new world that... simply stopped. It wasn't an engineering failure. It was a failure of existence. Holding that slate, I felt this... weight. The grief of the architect. The "wounds of unbuilt dreams." I realised then that this isn't a graveyard for people. It’...
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Woman with Flowers in Her Hair

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  Woman with Flowers in Her Hair Dusk Vignette The twilight hour weaves its tender shroud across the decaying streets as the last remnants of day’s warmth surrender to the cool breath of evening. She stands in the dim glow of lanterns flickering like dying embers, a melancholic and wild vision. Her hair, crowned with roses and entwined vines, blooms defiantly against the weary, withering city that crumbles around her. Beneath the flowers rests a serene yet haunted face, as if sorrow’s soft whispers have painted shadows beneath her eyes. The world stirs in echoes of forgotten grandeur, and she, like some mythic sentinel of the earth, is at once the bearer of life’s vibrant colour and the solemn mourner of its inevitable decay, a living embodiment of the cycle of life and death. Here, amidst the ruins, she is both the flower and the tombstone, standing silent as the day’s final breath collapses into night. Yet, there is something eternal in her stillness, as if in her fragile bloom l...
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Where is this road taking us?

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It is the same place and same time Being in a different time and associated with the same construct So much place is taken up by the same being Is the need to move forward a priority over being in place and time? No matter how far we have traveled the same social construct has remained steadfast in place.
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