The Baptist
It emerges from the resin like something ashamed to be seen. A massive stone head, half-swallowed by the hive's growth.
I note no inscription. No altar. No surrounding structure. Just a face—eroded, enormous, staring forward into nothing.
It was here before the hive; now it's part of it.
Whoever cast this face in stone believed it would be seen again, but it no longer matters.
It doesn't speak, it persists.