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The Architect
And so you have been left alone in the desert. You hoped for centuries that the sand and the sun would eat you whole, but it didn’t. Dunes moved around you like titanic waves, and even the stars in the sky traveled further away as time went by.
You remained.
And while in another universe you tried to heal yourself by becoming someone your Other Half would have loved more, here, you embraced the selfish wish that brought you ruin. You renounced humanity, and even learnt to hate them. You learnt that guidance is not what humans needed. They needed to be led, and broken, and subjugated. So you became a tyrant, and once you grew tired of being a tyrant, you wished to become a god.
Gods don’t need to love. Gods are lonely, gloriously so.
This is what you were meant to be, you thought. So you walked deeper in the desert, higher on the mountains, and built yourself a new place where you could belong. A palace worthy of being inhabited by a divine creature. You became the architect of your own temple. Greater than any ziggurat or mosque or synagogue, greater than the legendary perfection of Daedalus’ labyrinth and more lethal that the desert’s maze itself. And unlike the tower of Babel, its hubris did not lie in trying to reach heavens by piercing the skies but rather by seeking its perfect image from within. The mathematical genius of lines and arches and bridges is a soothing prayer heard by you alone - your eyes wander over the cascade of symmetry, the fractal madness that grow bolder with every passing century. It seems right. It is the familiar reflection you have been missing for so long. But you can’t be alone forever - pilgrims seek you, humans hear of the place in the mountain that either offers salvation or insanity. They become your servants, your worshipers, and you become a tyrant once more. They turn to sand and bones in the colossal corridors of your home, where you move around like Asterion, terrible and regal, a ghost reigning over ghosts.
(Still waiting, perhaps, for the one visitor that would never marvel at your prodigious constructions, for he would see it all for what it truly is.
Understand this : he will not come.)
Entropy finds a way, always. You wished for your own solitary peace, a stability that would leave no room for aching. But here it is, in the shape of the small saxifrage that you dismissively allowed to grow in the rock of your flank. The small iridescent flowers grow and root themselves deeper under your skin, looking for the fault in your heart and hoping to fix it. It will break you apart in the process. And you know it. You can’t wait to become undone.

Description

The Architect
And so you have been left alone in the desert. You hoped for centuries that the sand and the sun would eat you whole, but it didn’t. Dunes moved around you like titanic waves, and even the stars in the sky traveled further away as time went by.
You remained.
And while in another universe you tried to heal yourself by becoming someone your Other Half would have loved more, here, you embraced the selfish wish that brought you ruin. You renounced humanity, and even learnt to hate them. You learnt that guidance is not what humans needed. They needed to be led, and broken, and subjugated. So you became a tyrant, and once you grew tired of being a tyrant, you wished to become a god.
Gods don’t need to love. Gods are lonely, gloriously so.
This is what you were meant to be, you thought. So you walked deeper in the desert, higher on the mountains, and built yourself a new place where you could belong. A palace worthy of being inhabited by a divine creature. You became the architect of your own temple. Greater than any ziggurat or mosque or synagogue, greater than the legendary perfection of Daedalus’ labyrinth and more lethal that the desert’s maze itself. And unlike the tower of Babel, its hubris did not lie in trying to reach heavens by piercing the skies but rather by seeking its perfect image from within. The mathematical genius of lines and arches and bridges is a soothing prayer heard by you alone - your eyes wander over the cascade of symmetry, the fractal madness that grow bolder with every passing century. It seems right. It is the familiar reflection you have been missing for so long. But you can’t be alone forever - pilgrims seek you, humans hear of the place in the mountain that either offers salvation or insanity. They become your servants, your worshipers, and you become a tyrant once more. They turn to sand and bones in the colossal corridors of your home, where you move around like Asterion, terrible and regal, a ghost reigning over ghosts.
(Still waiting, perhaps, for the one visitor that would never marvel at your prodigious constructions, for he would see it all for what it truly is.
Understand this : he will not come.)
Entropy finds a way, always. You wished for your own solitary peace, a stability that would leave no room for aching. But here it is, in the shape of the small saxifrage that you dismissively allowed to grow in the rock of your flank. The small iridescent flowers grow and root themselves deeper under your skin, looking for the fault in your heart and hoping to fix it. It will break you apart in the process. And you know it. You can’t wait to become undone.