The Softest Throne

Ferliören Verified independent store

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She sits on volcanic stone wrapped in something that looks like clouds. Fish orbit her like voices that finally got tired. Orange sneakers, bright against the deep. Everything in h er is loud and she has chosen, visibly, not to flinch. What she wears is not costume. It is what remains when you stop bracing. Hang this one for the days you forget that settled is something you can choose. Show more