Ostensibly, an empty throne, Hetoimasia, of ancient dominion, enshrouded in some sort of volcanic matter. Abandoned. A relic.

  Surreptitiously, a monolith of indignation. A testament to the righteous anger of the working class. An enunciation of the common vernacular of the workshop floor. Workaday indignation. Prosaic, unnervingly potent, but oh, so eloquent.

  Indignation was carved from a single lump of swarf, the ultrafine grindings produced when grinding steel blades on a grindstone. It took about a year to be formed. Deposited little by little, as Brian went about his daily work.