Gara Prime

Of all our sleek gargoyles, our Void-borne masquerade, how to honour the one who volunteered willingly, knowing the truth? Whose little act of courage twinkled like a petty Ayatan before our golden indifference?

And Nihil cried ‘Glass her, for her presumption!’ until the arches rang with laughter.

So be it. I shall encase you in crystal most fine. That the purity of your stimatisation might shard the sunlight itself.

The unbroken.

Gara.


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