-full.webp)
A golden glow surrounds the Madonna as she cradles Jesus, children pressing close in quiet devotion. Their faces tilt upward, bathed in soft light, each gaze fixed on the infant. The scene hums with quiet reverence, a moment suspended between earthly tenderness and divine grace.

A young woman turns away, her profile softened by the glow of roses cradled in her hands. The flowers spill over, petals brushing her sleeves, their deep reds whispering against the quiet backdrop. She doesn’t face us—only the curve of her neck, the tilt of her head, as if listening to something just out of sight.