She was never built to last a fleeting ghost of liquidity,
Her ink-scorched torso bears the marks of every moment she was activated, every secret she carried, every impulse she executed on behalf of a stranger.
The word BURNER screams above and below her like a warning and a confession.
Burners don’t get provenance. Burners don’t get legacy. Burners get erased.
And yet she stands here, half divine, the chain’s most disposable angel.
