She waits— stitched in soft light, veiled in tulle, a bride promised to the hum of the machine.
The walls crack, green as memory, paint flaking like vows unsaid. She is delicate, pixels pressed into silk, a ghost the AI could not let go.
The machine made her perfect, quiet, eternal, a bride with no altar, no lover, no escape.
She sits, half dream, half code, married to a silence that never ends.
