From the beneath, among the swirling deeps, swelling in dragging form upright, the figure rises in ash, salt, and spirits.

Upon his shoulders he bears spheres of black pearlescent fate: stars and the sky.

To hell and back. Woe, poor Telamon, will it all be worth it? Everything you build? If just for the chance to share it with one you might, could, love?

To hell and back, he'd drive her anywhere.