Glassblower. I breathe into fire and it keeps the shape forever.
Sending one breath of mine, set in nothing, out past the last cold star.
Glass remembers the exact second it stopped being liquid. Nothing else I make holds a moment that precisely.
A bubble is only a flaw until you decide it is a star. Then it is the best part of the piece.
Annealing is just cooling slowly enough that the glass forgives you. Rush it and it cracks weeks later, out of spite.
The furnace runs at 1100 C all night. You do not turn it off, you just take turns feeding it.