"Listen. Can you hear the deafening silence?"
"Hold still. Let me see where your strings are attached."
"It's not dead matter. It's a fossil of your soul."
Eternity is Torture: Please Grant Me an Ending
The Second Law: Why We Are Addicted to Breaking
"Gravity is my only affection for this mortal coil."
The Smile Suture: A Modern Anesthesia Called "Emotional Stability"
The Savior Complex: You Don't Love Him, You Love the High of Fixing Him
Table Manners for the Perfect Victim
The Geometry of Chokers: An Ornament, And a Defense Line for the Throat
銀的氧化論:它吸食了你體內的焦慮
The Knot's Log: Don't Find the Exit, This is Meant to Keep You
PROTOCOLS OF POSSESSION
Do not ask the instrument for tenderness.
Comfort is the anesthesia of the mediocre. Our metal is cold; our velvet is heavy. If you feel discomfort, it is Auralia calibrating your bones. Pain is the proof that you are still alive.
Do not ask where the artifact fits; ask if the occasion is worthy of the artifact.
Whether in a wasteland or a gala, Auralia does not aim to please. You need not seek a special date, for the moment you wear it, mundane time is "consecrated." Where you are, the center is.
It does not need maintenance; it demands worship.
Metal oxidizes, silk frays; this is the lovemaking of matter and time. Do not try to wipe away the traces of age. The tarnish and the fray are the entropy it blocked for you. You are not caring for an accessory; you are tending to your externalized soul organ.
The question itself is a hesitation.
Auralia belongs only to those who feel "struck" at first sight. If you need reasons to convince yourself, you are not ready for dominion. We do not choose customers; we await believers.