Ｍｅｌａｎｋｏｌｉａ

A thousand eyes, yet none can see The weight of still-born memory. Her face—a bloom in static grace, Drifts soft through time, without a place. Roses crown her quiet ache, In silence loud enough to break. She dreams in loops, in colors loud, Beneath the skulls, beneath the shroud | Sound: ON | Original size: 256 x 256 | Upscaled size: 720 x 720