[untitled] s o p h i a
Desperate waves lap up strands of kelp and driftwood onto a plane of rough crystals and soppy sand. A slow gradient into vain foliage expands to a stretch of tropical treetops that reach for limp clouds. Between the trees moss and vine hang stringent, quivering at the wind’s touch. A stout cottage crafted of unlucky trunks and loose cobble sits comfortably on top of a hill, overlooking the expanse of trees and beach. Here lives the Princess of the Isle. Sent by fateful waves, the island that has carefully sanded her down, like how water erodes rock. A wish of peace brought her here to reside with the breeze and bird.
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