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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ #DaintyBalmLuda
ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ◞ ‌ ━─────────━  ‌◟
ㅤㅤ 𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄
ㅤㅤㅤ SOOTHING ( ོ ) RENAISSANCE
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ◌ ◦ ㅤ  ㅤ ⁕ ࣪ ི⋮
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ✿
ㅤSpring brings anoints that not everyone can
ㅤoversee. The outright perfect demesne is
ㅤscented with euphoria, daybreak turning to
ㅤundern not ceasing it from unremitting to
ㅤbloom—prevuing its beddable whereabouts
ㅤtoㅤ the ㅤscenery ㅤㅤ ༘
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ..ㅤ ࿔
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𐬹
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤPixie Under Spinning Windmill,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ NATURE'S CLASPING / 𝘓𝘦𝘦 𝘓𝘶𝘥𝘢.

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐄-𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄.
“Fabric becomes doctrine beneath
dim streetlight and passing hours”

▀▄ ▀▄▀▄ ▀▀▄ ▀▄▀▄ ▀▀▄ ▀▄▀▄ ▀

Beneath sodium-lit firmaments and the
hush of midnight avenues, street-born
regalia stands as scripture carved in
cotton and thread.

🛗 ➜ (WEAR-WITHOUT-BOAST.)
Threads inherit grit, not trends.

This attire speaks not through volume,
but through restraint sharpened by grit,
where elegance is not inherited, but
earned through friction with the world.

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One bright afternoon, we made our way to the local music studio, a cozy space adorned with posters of legendary musicians and the warm hum of creativity. As we stepped inside, I, Wyrmharrow's Ohyul felt a mix of excitement and anxiety fluttering in my chest. Mills's Yuha, ever the beacon of positivity, flashed me a reassuring smile. “Today’s the day, Ohyul! Let’s make some music!”
We settled into our corner of the studio, surrounded by instruments and the soft glow of fairy lights. I picked up my guitar, its polished wood gleaming under the lights.
“Remember, it’s all about having fun,” Mills's Yuha said, her voice a soothing melody. She sat beside me, her presence grounding and encouraging. As I stumbled through the chords, she clapped her hands and cheered, “You’re doing great! Just keep going!”