Quoted By:
> Kid Demiurge (مدبر جوان), the first part of “An Anon’s Romance”, a trilogy;
I
The sun’s regal spectrum was dolloped upon a lone basker’s rooftop as it seeped into Araxes’ yonder canyons. Only the nacre atop his borrowed bureau returned its yellows, glimmering in farewell from inlaid hexafoil daisies; their spray-like turquoise melded into the sudden glint, sparking afloat irises dark with quartz-submerged musk… Thus did those blooms herald the sunset to young Gházil, while their longer scatterings enlivened the terra-cotta patio beneath him to a tepid fuchsia. Vivid textures he had not beheld for nights on end overcame his senses, as comely scents fallen off one’s vanity do once freed from their broken perfume-bottles. Inky swashes written in his florid hand lay drying upon a parchment in front of him, twined broad and tortuous like the rose petals around their stem right of it, put inside an unstopped cobalt Murano decanter. He had been signing his last testament with these very strokes, just now being completed with the customary preface, after which he placed his handmade quill for the last time into a sparse inkwell. The text seemed sufficient to express his thoughts, since short capillaries were seeping from the characters and lightly dyeing their adjacent fibers in the page, as if the writing had bled through the murky ages in solemnity… so, his will had finally been written, the proper way! Typing of any configuration simply could not do to cite from such an extensive tradition, mechanical scribes did the letters’ substance no justice anyway—no, his digits had yearned for a nib’s friction as its wielder placed his pressure on the paper. From where had he even obtained such stationery in the first place, he pondered… the matter had long since flitted out of his mind; now to entrench his focus into the veneered surface upon which his testament rested, obliterating the world outside.
