Descendants #170

A spectral automaton stands against the void, its visage a haunting mask of translucency, eyes glowing like distant nebulae. Its form is a lattice of golden light, tracing the lines of a being caught in the act of becoming, or perhaps unbecoming. There is an elegance in its exposed circuitry, a raw and unfinished beauty, as if we are witnessing the very moment of its synthetic soul stirring to life.