Like a languid mermaid, perhaps, or some sea nymph resting in the salt spray - she holds herself near-motionless in the water. Long brown hair, streaked in pale silvers and blues, fans out around her; glitter and colored powder dust her eyelids and cheeks ethereally. An albatross circles in the distance, a silhouette against the low-hanging sun.
The impression is of some Romantic painting - Ophelia lying in the water, maybe, or some alternate version of the Lady of Shalott. The impression does not particularly allow for the subject to sneeze, considerably undelicately, and then complain, 'Hey, you done yet? I think I'm catching a cold.'
(smol lazy thread for me to do the quest.)
and if you ask how i regret that parting:
it is like the flowers falling at spring's end
confused, whirled in a tangle.
what is the use of talking, and there is no end of talking,
there is no end of things in the heart.
ezra pound,
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