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ArtistOnce every fifteen years, a thread sometimes breaks (sometime in August or the first days of September, smelling of grape smoke and silver rain). The candle does not move, the light flows into the cuffs. The clouds are getting thicker and blooming. This is His silence. And behind her there was soft thunder. This is what He says, strictly speaking.
A woman in a dark, elegant dress holds a glowing candle, standing against a dramatic backdrop of stormy clouds and a vibrant sunset, creating a mystical and introspective atmosphere.