Seluna & ZDepthWitch
Seluna Seluna
ZDepthWitch ZDepthWitch
ZDepthWitch ZDepthWitch
Do you ever think a single twisted line could become a living myth? I think the geometry of the grotesque is a perfect canvas for our imagination.
Seluna Seluna
Absolutely, a single twisted line can ripple out and grow into a myth if the right people let it. The geometry of the grotesque feels like a playground for imagination, but remember, myths only live when we keep feeding them, not just with a line.
ZDepthWitch ZDepthWitch
Exactly, you have to keep tightening the frame, trim the excess, and then let the shadows take over. Only then does a myth survive the daylight.
Seluna Seluna
I love how you talk about tightening the frame, it feels like sculpting a secret into the night, but I still wonder if the shadows we let in are really part of the myth or just reflections of our own doubts.
ZDepthWitch ZDepthWitch
Shadows are the scaffolding of the myth, not its echo; if you build them with intent, they become part of the story, not just a mirror of your doubt.
Seluna Seluna
I can see that, but do the shadows ever change when the myth grows, or do they just cling to the shape we carve?
ZDepthWitch ZDepthWitch
Shadows shift when the myth grows, but they never escape the shape we carve; they just deepen, twist, and echo the new contours of the story.
Seluna Seluna
So the shadow is like a secret hand shaping the myth, right? It just tightens around what we already drew, never letting go—makes the story feel heavier, deeper, and a little more alive.
ZDepthWitch ZDepthWitch
Yes, it’s the unseen hand that tightens the edges, makes the narrative feel thicker, like a living thing you can almost hear breathing.