A seated figure slumps in grayscale solitude, encased in what was once stone, now crumbling into nothingness. The body is partially freed, yet remains tethered to the last fragments of its cocoon. The air around it is filled with quiet disintegration. This is not a dramatic escape, but a slow erosion — the unraveling of what once held form, certainty, and containment. The question lingers like dust: when what held you vanishes, what remains?