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Summary
Monoco’s station was just as it had always been, Gommage or no. The painted curves of it flowed and trailed, one long brush stroke after another. The snow stayed, and so did the grandis, the gentle petals of iron, the curve of playful trains.
Only Monoco had left. Only they had changed. And then they’d returned, and for what? To scavenge the chroma of corpses long gone to rest? To scrape the paint from a hundred abandoned creations?
Verso was tired.
“Yes,” he said, “I could have saved him.”
Or: Maelle brings Gustave back, and accidentally ties his soul to Verso. This changes things.