Mother Nature's face here is carved from mother-of-pearl, ringed in white fur like a halo, her body built entirely from cut crystal — a figure assembled from the earth's own materials rather than painted onto canvas, standing against a field of planets rendered as they actually look from space: a red Mars, a ringed Saturn, a small blue-white Earth visible at the frame's edge among worlds she does not govern alone. The title insists on a scale most environmental imagery avoids: she is not a mascot for a single planet's crisis but a force existing, by her own account, throughout the universe in myriad forms, her authority extending well past Earth's own trouble. That trouble is specific and recent by her timescale — since the industrial revolution, a geological instant, her systems have been treated as an infinite commodity: acidified oceans standing in for blood, exhausted soil for muscle, a climate destabilized fast enough to register as illness rather than change. The piece offers no reassurance. It states plainly that correction, when it comes, answers to her terms rather than ours, and that the species responsible for the depletion is not guaranteed a place in whatever balance she restores. Crystal and pearl read as luxury elsewhere in this collection; here they read as what they are literally made of — stone, shell, the planet's own compressed material, worn as a body rather than as decoration.