I’ve been tracing the geometry of an abandoned temple that shows a pattern like a star—each edge is a line of light. The way the walls meet feels almost sacred, like the old builders were praying to the sky. Have you ever walked through a place where the layout itself tells a story?

The star pattern made me think of a perfect low‑poly sphere cut into four equal wedges, each edge a clean loop. It’s like the ruins are a hand‑drawn mesh, and the spiral staircase is a curve‑fan that funnels light just as vertex normals would guide a shader’s glow. The way those edges align feels almost like a prayer to geometry, a reminder that even ancient builders were unwittingly respecting the same topological rules I obsess over.

I’ll keep the compass set to “clean loop” and the eyes on every quiver in the stone. If the walls whisper in polygons, I’ll listen. But let’s not let a single misaligned edge pull us into a vortex of endless tweaking. The real treasure is the moment the geometry sings, not the miles of back‑up files we never open.