[ Had no one really ever . . . ? But it seemed so obvious. It wasn't just her name—it was in the way she moved, her whole body effortlessly choreographed into each motion. The way the gentle sway of her hair matched the sway of her hips as she walked, how it would be just as easy to picture the same movements under layers of embroidered robes. Even the way the plain, mass-produced dishware became something else in her hands, cupped with unconscious ceremony, as if the history and value it lacked was seeped instead into her very bones. ]
no subject
What are you making?