This building was intended to fall. The dust in all 6 rooms suspends in the air and light glitters on each particulate, a piercing bright like a headache behind the eye. Knuckles chapped like a dancer's feet, a listener survives in the building like it's a home. Makes it a home. Frantic energy holding still remains frantic. Trying to swallow, trying to catch your breath. Enough dust to settle and make the building in its exact image. Beating at the walls only makes the walls once more, 6 rooms, listening and responding. This is the sound of a space that cannot be unmade. Sorcery is permanent.