Behind the softened glass, a figure stands suspended in silence — not exposed, but revealed. Around them, the planets hold space in the four corners — ancient witnesses to our becoming. They are not decoration. They are memory, guidance, warning — reminders that we too are worlds in motion: each evolving, changing, and fragile. We are our own planet, so to speak, breathing in the dark, open to whatever meets us. We are not separate from the stars — we are made of them. We are not a secret. We are a mere satellite, searching.