Journal, today I impart revelatory news. We dug our trench fifteen crantons deep, as long and wide as a giant Wexen worm. The surface mold has accumulated over many eons. I set a team to scrape and sift and sort. The most prestigious finds are before me now, protected as they were from decay by a transparent film on which we chanced a dissection. Inside: a soft burial container with incarnadine colors and inscriptions. My joy was unbounded when we lifted the lid on this sarcophagus, revealing two representations—reminiscent of Drogbel babies, though more garishly attired in spectrums of citrine and ruby.

But the discovery is not without melancholy. This is another world of remnants, one more civilization snuffed out as a candlebird dowses her own flames at the end. Yet, I keep faith we are not alone, that others have reached the stars before self-immolation, or we may arrive elsewhere to prevent such as we have found here. We put our trust in the scale of the Universe.

The purpose of the artifacts is unclear. I theorize on the ritualistic, assuming their originators had similar form. They are the most pristine of items. When we return home, I will place them side by side on a high pedestal in the Museum of the Missed.

Regarding the inscriptions, the language is unknown to our lexicon. I append the likeness for later research: Barbie and Ken Doll Two-Pack Neon Roller Skating Set. May their creators sleep forever with the dream spiders.