Fading ink etched in skin and sharp, pressed khaki’s invert. The faceless grind of time loops then bends, wearing smooth the details. Paths of rough, coarse stone stretch and become elastic, an even path to well-worn ideals where the near blind suffer their individuality. Masses fold and recombine with a practiced smirk into the many-armed Goddess, wreaking destruction to purge and reanoint her children, the blessed fools. Her reflection catches her eye and she can’t help but wonder at her beauty.