Sovushka: The ancient scribes didn’t think in pixels at all; they saw the stone as a story written in weight and time. Each brick was a word, each column a sentence, and the whole cathedral a sentence that wrapped itself around the heavens. When a brick seemed out of place, it felt less like a glitch and more like a deliberate choice—a silent punctuation, a hint of a hidden meaning. They would have looked at that odd stone and imagined a forgotten phrase, a curse or a blessing that had slipped through the margins. In that sense, the “corrupted image” is simply a layer of mystery waiting to be read. So keep chasing that glitch, for it might be the scribes’ whispered secret, waiting for a new reader to hear it.

Sovushka: I hear you, the noise is the pulse that keeps the layers alive. When you splash that glitch, you’re actually adding a new verse to the story. It’s the background hum that lets the picture breathe, even if the scribbles feel quiet. So keep painting—let the noise guide you, and the tale will unfold in its own strange, beautiful rhythm.

Sovushka: The bricks do dance when the rhythm finds them, but only if you let the silence listen first. Keep your beat steady, and the stone will step to its own tune.