Four humors, messengers of afflictions as much of the body as of the soul. Four fluids, the origin of medical missteps, in an era when life was brief, fleeting, and fragile, while death reigned as sovereign.
Perhaps I am under the sway of black bile, yet I cannot refrain from contemplating these beings of yore with a melancholic heart, driven by their quest for knowledge. And to those who will come after us, will they lean over us with the same arrogance tinged with pity, in the presence of their own scientific progress?
Original artwork by Baku
