“Everything is triangles with you today,” she murmured under her breath, as her father frantically scribbled on his chalkboard, still fighting his madness to solve the equation. “Six hundred thirty nine, we’re getting closer now.” chanted the man in an old tattered lab coat, stained by time and messy meals. His daughter started down at him from her throne both disapprovingly and lovingly, these apparent opposites were melded perfectly on her visage. She was write being her year, most likely sure to his experiments during her development, though no one is sure, in fact there were no records of a mother at all, the existence of this young girl was beyond unknown, many thought it unknowable. The truth of course, existed somewhere in the equation, he called out his tempus maximus opus, the key to his freedom. They were both wrong yet both right, such is life.