Until Identity Becomes Diffraction, Prismatic And Unstable

Her gaze is a silent algorithm, calculating the distance between memory and sensation; each rose scintillates with data from forgotten dreams, while the midnight of her hair blooms into constellations that rearrange the taxonomy of desire. Within the cool pallor of her skin, every pulse conceals a recursive corridor, an echo chamber where consciousness folds back on itself until identity becomes diffraction, prismatic and unstable. She is both terminal and gateway: an interface through which the cosmos rehearses its own disappearance, wearing flowers that metabolize light into whispers of forbidden futures, and eyes that rewrite causality the instant you dare to look too long.