The Beautiful Problem

Seven winters in

Henmos showed me his tablets today.

Not the clay itself—the marks. The idea that a thing can be counted without staying in someone’s head.

I watched him arrange stones and notches and I felt a strange sensation I didn’t have words for.

Like the world could be made legible. Like value could be carried.

Seventeen winters in (scaffold)

[Scaffold] When my hands are steady enough, I will make beads that are so beautiful people want them even when they don’t need them.

[Scaffold] Then the beads will start moving. And the moving will change the meaning of everything.

[Scaffold] Alenh will call it a bridge. Henmos will call it a unit. Serapnenh will ask what pattern it serves. I will learn that beauty can become a trap.