These remnants, rotting keepsakes of words and pictures are mnemonically residual. They are scryed, interfaces utilizing misfired sigilings, systems of incomplete quasi-alchemical call-signs and proto-symbologies loosely based upon borrowed (and in some cases stolen) artificially charged devices. When assembled into specific schemas, this soft machinery marks as it contains, and thus constructs the Terminal House.
A singularity, The darkness that use to be your mouth, An absence, A hole through the centre of the world, A pit immune to magick, A well that captures memory, A black hole where your mouth use to be.
