Once upon a vaporous hour, the fogbulbs flickered dimly, their illumination a symphony of shadows and warmth. Restoration to their former glory, whispered the echoes, was merely a trifle—if only one knew the precise incantation in an unpronounceable dialect of irony.
Legends state they were the temple's finest relics, outshining even the most extravagant wax enhancements during the weekly mist masquerades. Now, their dimness is a testament to the fading brilliance of what once was—a glorious parody in light and obscurity.
To truly understand the restoration of these fogbulbs, one must first comprehend the existential quandary: What is a fogbulb if not a spheroid of luminous nostalgia yearning for its past glory? Contemplate this, and perhaps, the bulbs will reveal their secrets through flickers of appreciation—or outright laughter.
Forgotten Silhouettes