### As you reach out at the essence, an old but calming memory caresses your thoughts. *A canvas, colors, bassy laughter, love and ponderance.* The cold ichor of paint. Fingers smear color across smooth slate. Giving form, meaning, life. Febe leans in. Questions. Always curious. Freedom, expression, whimsy. Art. Are we truly free? Zakiros looms in the distant fog, dripping with obsession and machination. Were it that Midnight could end. So that dawn could come.