Spin, spin, o red thread. Spin, o fates, from fine fibers. In the darkness of time, through the days, weave into a thousand lines...
Wound on a thin branch, stretched between white fingers, passed through the eye of a needle, lives, dreams, and visions stretch through the air, through the sky, through memory. And a unique pattern is sewn; the scarlet lace of days is stitched.
The drawing upon the canvas of time has closed.
A thread has been cut, with a blade as sharp as a moonbeam. The goddess bent down with a sad smile and lightly touched the new lines.
Spin, spin, o red thread.
Model - Lina Strombrskaya.
Crown - Manitou.
Dress - Space.lock.
Natalie Ina Photography.
September 2024.
Boosty
Behance
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