Picture this thing not as a table, but as the cosmic equivalent of a master craftsman’s altar—an ancient workstation where universes are drafted, tested, and breathed into being. It’s the kind of bench a god would lean over when they’re in the mood to sculpt a new reality. 🌌 The Workbench Itself - Material: The surface isn’t wood or metal—it’s a slab of condensed spacetime, smooth as obsidian but alive with shifting constellations beneath its skin. When you touch it, the “grain” moves like slow tides of stardust. - Edges: The borders are rimmed with a faint event-horizon glow, as if the bench is holding back the raw chaos of creation. Every so often, a spark of cosmic radiation flickers off the edge like a firefly made of gamma light. - Legs/Support: Instead of legs, the bench is floating