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Mystical autumn night. 

A church stands on the bank of the river. 
A silhouette leaning against its mossy wall. 

In the dim light of the lamp, her face is slightly outlined—osmanthus skin, tangerine lips, patchouli hair. 

She put her hands in the pockets of her old leather jacket, where she probably carries tobacco and rhubarb pie crumbs. She walked to the cedar door of the church. 

Perhaps a femme fatale seeking forgiveness for her amorous sins?

Not a chance!

The door creaks open, and out pours the slightly spiced smell of the cellar and a dim golden light.

It is Narcis who shines from within and lures her to the depths, where she is in danger of drowning in passion. 

Narcis, her old lover, can intoxicate with music similar to the singing of whales. 

She trips over chunks of ambergris on the stairs as she descends them and slowly sinks below the surface to follow the song.

The darkness lit up with luminous organisms caressing her body, as soft as white sheets of magnolia petals. 

As the church organ starts to play, endless space spreads out from below. Freedom. Here, all sins are forgiven in advance.


At least to those who can keep a secret.

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