You use it, that darkness. Your hand is guided as you smudge the lines of shadows cast here. The perimeter whispers to you. You know where you are now.
A vessel, a sacred bowl.
In your hand, a black silk ribbon you always hold. You let go and it unfurls, falling without fear.
Always the bearer of the perfect gift, it returns with just what you need.
You breathe in a new tide, a weave of silver ore you must have longed for.