Devouring Red

Sacred covenants are never written in gold, but sealed with the deep red of severed veins.
The archives erase the tearing, noting only the heavy, metallic sweetness of power transferring. This cluster of dark crimson knots is the blood scab solidified in our three-dimensional reality.
Its touch lacks the softness of velvet; it carries only the stiff, heavy weight of sedimented history. Recovered by the night watchmen.
It is still breathing. Waiting for a host who does not fear gazing into their own wounds, turning this fatal flaw into the supreme authority.