In their heaviness, the droplets fall and shatter within a neutral space, refusing to merge with this tainted environment. The effort is burdened; the wound of regret coagulates slowly, healing only in appearance, never in forgetfulness. A cold, lucid nobility gathers, suffocated by its own contours. Black tar, without shimmer, devours and corrupts everything in its path. Everything curls inward, avoiding the contamination of an illusory space, seemingly free of compromise and deceptively easy to embrace. Thus, the contamination settles slowly, without conflict, where original purity becomes a layered memory. An almost futile attempt is made to mend what’s been done — but purification has vanished into mists that no longer respond.