blossoming from a thing of tertiary value.īut this is not Violet Evergarden I'm describing. The rays of light trails over the delicate frame of the figure. It shimmers ever so slightly, creating prisms of color in the endless shuffle. The soft glow of light dancing on the surface of the sheet of glass serving as its imprisonment. The figure stands there without concern for the wondering gaze of any passersby, a translucent wall erected between it and the endless faces. Porcelain skin adorned with silk, the material complements the complexion. There it is, a body on display, delicate fabric hugging its frame as if a part of its existence from the very beginning.
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