Eve

The second of the ten final beads. Its perimeter is already inscribed, a closed line of light. Inside, a tide rises from a lower reservoir toward the upper rim — it arrives just short of the edge and holds there, shimmering, before retreating back down to the reservoir.

The surge never completes. The bead does not fill today. The rim is the edge of tomorrow, and the horizon line that crosses the canvas marks that same height. Around the central bead, one satellite is already solid — yesterday's bead, already inscribed. Eight others wait.