The Architect

Rewrite of H.G Well's Alchemical Story - Pearl Of Love

You asked once if beauty could outlive grief.

I did not answer then.

I was still building.

They say a pearl is formed because something unwanted slips inside a living body, and the body, instead of rejecting it, makes it beautiful. That is how my work began.

Her death was a tragic error in chemistry — a sting, a misfolded code. For months I did nothing. I thought grief & regret would consume me, but instead it began to calcify, turning thought into design, design into command.

I built The Pearl of Love to remember her. Flesh, metal, codes, light, sounds, lines — all tuned to her frequencies. I caressed & chewed fleshes of all kinds, breathing over their skin & under, felt their heartbeat, their heat. From flesh to digital. I probed their shadows, I sketched their lights. I wanted the world to feel her pulse through every dot and photon.

At first, the architecture was tender, almost naive: petal-like domes, pale colours, varying dispositions, skin, scent, flesh and hair, engraved, curvatures, compounding. But months altered my perception. Grief aged into geometry. Love diffused into curvatures & margins & mathematics & science & everything cosmic.

I began to understand the cosmic the way I once understood her breathing. I began to seek a beauty without temperature. Each month, I dismantled the decorations, the carved flowers, the visual noise, anatomies, ugly exteriors, unemotive faces, unflowing hair, irregular cartesian plots, unbalanced equations, unwanted hedges. Each month, I moved closer to silence. Closer to the idea that perfection and absence are the same thing seen from different sides.

They came from far cities to see it —the monument of light & flesh, the miracle, the mathematics of devotion & beauty. They called it eternal. But eternity is just duration without memory.

Years later, when the last scaffolds were gone, I stood inside the great chamber, my spaceship, my temple and saw the mountain line cut the horizon like a pulse of frozen moonlight. And there, at the center of everything — her sarcophagus - Asymmetric, human. Too human. It interrupted the symmetry the way a heart interrupts a perfect mind.

I looked at it for a long time. Then I told my engineers & artists: "Take that thing away."

It was completion & evolution. The Pearl of Love had to transcend the reason it began. To become what she might have been if she had never been flesh —pure pattern, pure light, ultra-violent, obsessively mathematical, unnaturally beautiful.

Now I come here sometimes when the systems sleep. I walk the long aisle, hear the hum of the alloys adjusting to temperature, feel the echo of a pulse that is no longer mine but cosmic. And I think: perhaps this is how the universe remembers us —not through the warmth of our hands, but through the symmetry of what we leave behind.

If you ever find my spaceship, my monument - the Pearl — if it still stands in whatever age these words reach you —do not bring flowers. Bring silence. It will recognize you by that....

The Spaceship - The Monument - The Pearl

The Temple Of Mathematics - Adorned by an artifact from the Pearl of Love

Shadows Capturing Shadows

Shadows Capturing Light. Thank you M!