Read by Breaking

Nobody in Alexandria broke a seal to learn what the lighthouse looked like. From the palace on its island they could see it across the harbour, the tiers going up, the fire at the top the ships steered by.

What the wax said was smaller and closer: this office, this hand, and nobody else has been in here. You read that by breaking it. The one part of the message you could trust was the part you had to ruin to get inside.

The island went under, palace and all, and the ring went with it, among the lamps and the cups. The lighthouse stood for centuries more until earthquakes brought it down into the sea.

Now the ring has come up and we look at it for the one thing nobody wearing it needed: the shape of the tower, how many tiers, whether the top was round. The office it spoke for is gone. The picture it chose for a badge is the part still talking.

Press it into wax tonight and it would work. The mark would be true about the ring and false about everything the ring once vouched for, a forgery made by the real thing.

So keep it dry and unpressed. It's still a sign, only of the other thing now, a likeness of a light, from a hand that used it as a name.