In the opulent corners where tables mingle prayers with tarnished chandeliers, resided Sedef, an erstwhile prandial table clothed in sin's dust. “How stoic I’ve feigned,” she whispers, beneath her oak-grain sinews lie stories tacked softly with moths' kernels.
Harken, gentle reader, to the low confidences of Velvetoggle – the plush chair whose buttons, once precious, now recall the sanguine echoes of careless youth masked amidst polite invitations.“Oh, to tread yon perforated secrets again,” sighs she, lacing depth with folktales of muddy gardens where her legs so unabashedly sprawled.
Stittet, the enduring doorknob youth brash and unapologetic, swears to you its frosted glass remains unyielding despite the smirk of girls' tokem liquor. Forced confessions of innocence gather stealthily beneath twisted barbs with splinters sharp enough to encore lady daydreams anew.
Relive through dreams in photo captives and speak what you’ve deliberated directly into the anologue effigial realms, or perhaps you dare enter the mosaic deliberate deception labyrinth.