Her Portrait & the Quiet Room

In a chamber draped with faded velvet, where gilded cherubs weep over withering blooms, one realizes: beauty is merely a mask for the inevitable decline. A clock ticks, mocking the fleeting moments, while shadows dance to a silent symphony of forgotten dreams.

In a chamber draped with faded velvet, where gilded cherubs weep over withering blooms, one realizes: beauty is merely a mask for the inevitable decline. A clock ticks, mocking the fleeting moments, while shadows dance to a silent symphony of forgotten dreams.