Now at the gate, it dwarfs, repels you. Each hinge of the romanesque vestibule is flanked by peering Lamassu. You know these are of the living stone, even as you are invited to this place, the fear of such monsters halves the height of your perceived self. The handles lay un-barricaded, this summer has been a mild one for sure, yet the dust from the ever-encroaching firmament lay in a beige drift at the side of the left of this great entry, behind you persists the cast sunbaked expanse of sand, and what little of this place of worship leaves outside its walls, in the distance at the furthest end, past your ship lay the Observatory, the glint of the morning sun reflects of in blinding crimson sunburst.

I have to provide the light which is great and warm like the inner lands to awaken this vessel…