Pulsing Calcification

A fine brush rasps against the pitted obsidian shell, struggling to dislodge coarse silt that clings to its deep curves. As the bristles press harder, the grit refuses to yield; it feels less like a layer of dust and more like a vibration pulsing from within the creature's own marrow. To scrape further is to risk piercing raw, sensitive tissue in pursuit of an artificial clarity. Instead, the archivist pauses, letting the sunlight rest upon the uneven surface where decay and form finally settle into a quiet, shared stillness.