When we look each other face to face, none of us sees only a face we hate – no, we look into a mirror.[…] Truly, do you not recognize yourself in our appearance? SS Colonel Lis to the Old Bolshevik Mostovsky, Vasily Grossman, Life and Destiny
Freedom is a heavy burden, a terrible, strange weight for the soul that bears it. […] It is not a gift given, but a path chosen, and the choice can be difficult. Ursula Le Guin, The Tombs of Atuan
The autograph of the Artois Mansion
Only the dead are allowed to become statues, but my statue was given to me while alive. I have already turned to stone. The said statue was a small token of gratitude for my multifaceted contribution – as the honorable mention read aloud by Aunt Vidala stated. The reading had been assigned by our superiors, and it gave no sense of gratitude whatsoever. I thanked her with as much modesty as I could muster, then pulled the rope, releasing the fabric veil that shrouded me; the cloth fell to the ground with a flutter, and there I was on the pedestal. At the Artois Mansion, we do not engage in cheers, but a discreet applause followed the unveiling. I nodded my head in acknowledgment.
My statue exceeds human size, as is customary with statues, and depicts me younger, slimmer, and in better physical condition than I have been for some time. I stand upright, with shoulders straight, lips curved into a persistent but kind smile. My gaze is fixed on a heavenly point of reference, which, as is implied, reflects my idealism, my unwavering dedication to duty, the determination with which, despite all obstacles, I walk toward the future.