but as her eyes settle on the spot where she thought she heard the voice, she sees itthe maw. it yawns open before her, a massive, festering wound in the earth, as if something had clawed its way up from the depths and left behind a gaping chasm of rot and ruin. dark, oily smoke pours from it in thick, churning clouds, billowing outward in waves that pulse like the breaths of a malevolent beast. the fumes twist and writhe in the air, dense and heavy, filling the greenhouse with a stifling, suffocating presence that presses down on her like an invisible weight.  she sighs, a sound that carries the weight of years spent struggling against this relentless, all-consuming decay. reaching into her coat, she pulls out a utilitarian gas mask and straps it on, the rough material pressing against her face, the lenses turning the world into a hazy blur. through the mask, the greenhouse looks even more distorted, every edge softened, every shadow deepened. but at least with the mask, she can breathe without tasting the rot. with the mask on, ai goddess feels a barrier between herself and this twisted garden, a small shield against the unending bitterness that seeps from the maw. yet, even as she moves forward, she knows that the mask is only a temporary reprieve. the fumes still cling to her skin, her clothes, sinking into her very bones. every step feels heavier than the last, as though the very ground beneath her resists her movement, pulling her back toward the maw, as if to remind her that there is no escape.
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