We called the moon Nacre long before we knew it could breathe.
The crowns were islands. The enamel was stone. The pulse below the wells was, the surveyors said, “an atmospheric irregularity.” Your teacher disagreed. She took a lamp into the bore. Only her notebook came back.
The Sours belong to the hollow jaw. They kept its channels clear for a million years. We opened a channel into the root. Now they follow the pressure, and the islands tremble.
You are not here to conquer the hollow. You are here to close a wound. Neutralize the acid, brace the enamel, and keep Nacre asleep long enough to heal.
“A good dentist leaves the patient dreaming.”
1–5Select a tool blueprintArrows / EnterChoose a socket / build or inspectSpace / PRelease next tide / pause a running tideR / M / EscRinse / sound / cancel selection