A raymarched cloud deck, ported from a standalone WebGL sketch. It is on the shelf rather than in the drop because it fails the drop’s first filter: it is beautiful and it is not unmistakably Greek — the same deck would look at home on any landing page ever built. Calling it classical would cost the drop the one claim it has.
Components that are good and are not Greek. They take the house prefix and obey every architecture rule the drop obeys, but they fill no slot in any archetype, nothing here counts toward a drop’s coverage, and the grammar does not budget them. Reach for one because you want it, never because a world had a gap.
Built as the pair to nephele, because a cloud deck at midnight is a dark grey mass — correct, and the least interesting thing that component does. This one is only night. Between them, sky has a visible face at every hour on the clock. It is on the shelf for nephele’s reason: unmistakable, and not Greek in any way a person would recognise. σέλας is at least the word Greek uses for it.
Built from a reference frame — a moonlit coast — and deliberately not all of it. The surf and the backlit seed heads in that image are geometry problems a raymarcher turns to mush, and most of its sparkle is GIF dither rather than anything in the scene. What was worth taking is the light path on the water. On the shelf for the same reason as the other two: unmistakable, and not Greek.
Built for the shelf’s one test — would anyone screenshot it. Nobody needs a black hole explained, there is no drop-in web component for one anywhere, and a warm disc on black happens to be the best bed for white text the house has.
The pair to khaos rather than a repeat of it: that one is a place, this one is a material. It is here because the colour is genuinely impossible to fake — the first thing anyone says about a gradient like this is that it is a mesh gradient, and this one measurably is not.
The first thing on this shelf that is an object rather than a field. The other five are a sky, a night, a sea, a place and a material — all of them whatever shape the box is, none of them with a near side, a far side or a stem leaving the bottom of the frame. Here for the shelf’s one test: a bouquet is the most screenshotted object there is, and nobody has one that opens. Not Greek, and no amount of naming it in Greek would make it so.
The second object on the shelf, after desme, and the pair to iris rather than a repeat of it: that one is a film, one layer thick, and this is a stack. A single film gives a bubble’s pastels; a stack of platelets sharpens the same interference into abalone’s greens and magentas, which is a different picture from a different formula. Here for the shelf’s one test — an opening shell is a thing people photograph — and not Greek, whatever κόγχη means.
Ported from a sketch that fogged a photograph the buyer handed it. What is behind the glass here is DRAWN unless you put something there, so it ships wanting nothing and its effect does not depend on somebody else’s picture — and putting an <img> or a <video> inside puts that behind the glass instead. Here for the shelf’s one test: everybody has drawn on a misted window, and nobody has one on a web page. Not Greek, and naming it in Greek does not make it so.
Built for the shelf’s one test, and built carefully because its state machine is achlys’s: a pointer stroke written into a ping-ponged buffer that decays back. What differs is the direction and the physics — that one clears fog to reveal a scene, this one lays pigment onto an empty ground, and mist re-condenses uniformly where paint does nothing uniformly. It is also the shelf’s first light component: seven dark fields and a primed canvas.