GOD: PENDING

This isn’t magic; it’s a plastic spell.

A white toy horse—too clean to be alive—

poses under hard glare.

VOICE: SHERIFF — Entry LOGGED.

The dolls hold, cropped—half-bodied.

Mute.

Their hands still keep the shape of touch.

One head, absurdly proud, bares painted teeth—

a carousel predator.

The scene is staged: cheap myth—easy to take;

it fits in pockets, rides on anyone,

a kingdom built from toys that means to last.

Above it all, the dark stays in place.

He bends—lit from within.

Older than the world's work. Older than the rule;

and everything here endures by his decree.

VOICE: SHERIFF — GOD: AUTHORITY CLAIM on file. Verification: PENDING.

He looks down; the lion keeps its task—

stone mouth pouring time—

VOICE: SHERIFF — Lion spout: DUTY CONTINUES.

a spare streamlet—habit, not a blessing.

A basin glitch—dull-carved rock.

The floor is patterned—small, obedient tiles,

while fountain water sets the whole display.

So much is arranged for noble spectacle;

the leak is truest.

The first to grant the real withdraws his leave,

his glorious law declares what stands.

Dolls unmake themselves—

horse goes under—into marble, into void.

Honours are re-allotted; plastic loses rank.

VOICE: SHERIFF — Plastic: RANK REVOKED.