The white room turns golden as if gods are about to descend or decimate. You won’t know which because beauty and light precedes all events, even the great and terrible. And this is a room made for everything. The baby is a monster, the monster is a baby. The seed is a trap, the trap is a seed. All this, made up. A room is a made-up place. You are a room. Arrival is not a place entered; it is a prerequisite.