Them.

I am a collection of carving tools, made from stone.

They were a neglected piece of masonry, buried in the shadow of slums, a surprising and small light in the face of a growing darkness.

I beheld them, listening to them speak their pleas of pity, their cries to be cherished, a seemingly foreign concept.

Only those mere supplications were untruthful.

I took my time to carve them into so...