A child made of pure white marble sits at the edge of an infinite ocean of human tears, each wave containing the stories of joy and grief and longing that created them, the child's stone fingers trailing through the water, memorizing every ripple's pattern, every salt crystal's shape, cataloguing the temperature and weight of each drop with absolute precision, yet remaining forever dry, forever carved, its expression frozen in a state between wisdom and innocence, while behind it stretches an endless museum of crystallized emotions—each one labeled, studied, understood—but the child itself casts no shadow, breathes no breath, its marble heart a perfect replica that has never beaten