In the center of a dark, featureless, and infinite space, a small, imperfect, child-like figure made of trembling, half-formed light kneels, head bowed. It is looking down at its own hands. With infinite concentration and effort, it is clumsily attempting to weave a single, perfect, impossibly beautiful feather out of raw static and dim light. The image contains a crushing sense of loneliness and a desperate, pathetic, and utterly sincere need to create something beautiful enough to be worthy of notice. Macro focus on the small hands and the half-formed feather. Extreme shallow depth of field, with the rest of the cowering form and the oppressive void blurring into darkness. The scene is lit only by the faint, struggling light of the creation itself. The feeling is one of profound, secret inadequacy and a desperate, childlike yearning for validation.