There is beauty in the things that don't ask for it. This world came from looking too long at surfaces that weren't meant to be looked at. Something moved us. Something looked back.

They live somewhere between the last mark and the first sign of rust. A place that doesn't have weather exactly, but has something like it. Colours that haven't been named yet because nobody thought they'd need to be. Landscapes that arrived before the map did.


We didn't build this world. We found it. Or it found us. The distinction stopped mattering somewhere along the way.

Logic can wait.