A bride stands solemnly in her white gown, fingers lightly touching her wedding band. The heavy folds of fabric and downcast eyes speak louder than any smile—this moment holds more gravity than joy. Marriage here feels less like celebration, more like a quiet surrender to duty.
A woman in yellow leans against a sunlit wall, her draped gown pooling around her. The fabric catches the light like liquid gold, its folds whispering against stone. Her gaze drifts beyond the frame, lost in some private thought. The warmth of the scene lingers, suspended between stillness and motion.
Persephone emerges from the underworld, her pale gown catching the dim light. Demeter reaches toward her, fingers trembling—six pomegranate seeds still lingering on the girl’s tongue. The earth holds its breath between winter and spring.
Golden light spills across the harem’s tiles, catching the folds of silk and idle limbs. A woman lounges near the window, half in shadow, half in warmth—her gaze distant, as if listening to something beyond the walls. The air hums with stillness, heavy with unspoken longing.