We dug up the statue and cleaned it off.
It was a golden angel, and it was perfect in every way.
When was it made?
Who made it?
Why?
It didn’t weigh like it was solid gold. We thumped it and it sounded hollow, but filled with something.
Did we dare open it?
We had it shipped back to the university, and after careful examination, we found an unobtrusive spot to drill.
The hole grew deeper, deeper…
That’s when the poison gas leaked out, and as we choked, we realized it was the artist’s final statement:
Don’t fuck with perfection.