TRAGODIA SERIES

Tragodia III

Tragodia III carries a set of blackened, buttress-like forms across her chest, inverted so they curve the wrong way — scorched dark, with red tracing down the torso like rust down a column — the residue of burning, nothing organic about it. Rubble sits where a collar would, loose stone built up rather than carved, and the crown above scatters into bent rods, closer to broken antennae than to anything ceremonial.

A buttress exists to hold something else up; turned upside down and fixed to a body, it has nothing left to support. That’s close to how memory actually works — the structure it once braced is gone, and only the brace remains, still doing a job that no longer exists.