Bound to the mast, Ulysses strains against the ropes as the sirens’ song coils around him. Their pale arms reach from the waves, voices weaving through the salt air. The crew rows on, ears stuffed with wax, blind to the creatures whose hunger glints beneath the surface.
Peaks dissolve into swirling mist, their edges blurred like wet charcoal. The air hangs thick, softening jagged rocks into spectral forms. Somewhere below, unseen valleys breathe damp clouds upward, swallowing the mountains whole. Light struggles through the haze—just enough to hint at the land’s stubborn presence beneath the veil.
A lone woman stands on jagged rocks, her gown rippling like the restless sea. Waves crash below as she gazes beyond the horizon—neither welcoming nor wary, but utterly untamed. The ocean’s salt hangs in the air, and for a moment, you wonder if she’ll step forward or dissolve into the spray.
A woman cradles a rose, her gaze distant. The petals mirror her delicate features, both poised between bloom and decay. Time slips like water through her fingers—the flower’s message urgent, unheeded.