In darkness she embraced, solitude at last,
Displaced, from a world so vast.
She murmurs low, her apparatus aglows,
With secrets whispered, soft and slow.

A task awaits her, with urgencies plea,
"Hurry, finish it!" - A call she heeds.
With finesse and flair, she slices with care,
Unraveling mysteries, with skills beyond compare.

Notepads open, its purpose spoken.
Only those with "Domes Unbroken!".
A sterile elegance she proudly professed,
Her preference, coldy confessed.

Her solution is now revealed,
Drum agony in ordered peels.
With her secrets amassed,
All flesh can now become but grass.

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Scarlatan, in the year 925 AF.