(Art by @buruchii on twt!)

Kaveh has a prized sculpture.

He deems the clay human as his muse.

He is not crazy, even though he talks to it everyday, as if it could hear.

He is not lonely, he has friends—countless ones, so why does he wish the sculpture could be real?

Why does he wish it could stare into him?

Why does he wish it could have warm flesh?

Why does he buy things from a spontaneous witch that is said to bring his beloved clay to life?

Well, here goes nothing... Kaveh thinks, holding a bottle that sparkled a bright red dangerously.

“Forgive me, Father, Mother, Lesser Lord Kusanali for what atrocities I am about to commit.”

Then he tips the bright fluid onto the sculpted Alhaitham.