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.
Lay Me Siege
Cold moons, Alone, My doctors, And my pathogens, Haunts, Stop talking, And resist, Whale bone, And dead scientists, Thousands of feet, From infected ground, Leave this behind, Back then, They used to bite, I need this, I need you too.