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.