O one who shall soar, do not be bound to the earth. You are a light source woven from the celestial sphere, the end I shall humbly warm the water to welcome, like a suckling lamb that must be embraced. For you, I have ripened the sun and baked the moon to fashion a body; if you wish, I would even tear away my very existence to feed you.

D stared blankly at the sky reflected in his watch. He wondered when civilization had learned to grow so fast, containing and standardizing the world. Those who once predicted a harvest with a single wildflower are now preparing to cut their own umbilical cords. Yet, they still seem as if they would go out if grasped, and seem to smell of mother's milk when approached, so D still had no intention of changing his impressions.

A vibration lingering near the conference room shook the floor and reached his ears. Distinguishing a single one among countless vibrations was an easy task, but that did not immediately become evidence that he could set his mind at ease.

Guest, what brings you all the way here...

He remembers the flow of woodblocks becoming movable type, movable type becoming metal type, then ink pens, and then keyboards. The tremor of that first cry that wrung the heart was vivid in his hands. O countless children who hold hands with reddish, dry, shriveled vernix, my reason for existence, my little acolytes...

...Your hands are cold. Shall I get you some tea?

May you be peaceful forever.