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Her skirt is dusted by the street and no chaperone shadows her steps. Some call her ill-bred, others surprisingly gifted. But she gives them little thought. With a pencil worn to its nub, she captures life as it passes. And claims her place, not as a spectacle but as maker.
Adapted prompt from Fer’s: https://deepdreamgenerator.com/search?t=explore&q=caf409be-1e1b-57c4-90cd-1b328664885e&m=1