Kaia & Zirael
Zirael
Hey Kaia, I was just wandering through the old tram depot, watching the rain drip off the cracked metal, and thought—what if we spun that scene into a mythic tale? Maybe a forgotten god of rust and light that lives between the gears, and you could sketch the quiet moments of its watch. I could even weave in a pattern of the rain‑streaked glass for a prop. How do you feel about that?
Kaia
That sounds like a quiet dream, the rust whispering like old poems, the light catching on gears like distant stars. I can see myself sketching the rain‑streaked glass, letting it hold the silence of the god’s watch. It feels gentle, almost like breathing in a forgotten room. Let's give it a moment of stillness, where the story breathes in the rust and the rain.