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that wild, wondrous magic.

that wild, wondrous magic.

i trespass into late hours listening for wings, waiting for something luminous to pierce the night she arrives draped in the last summer green, all gypsy magic with flowers in her hair she knows every secret the dark holds, and her eyes shimmer with the light of a...
purple skies are calling.

purple skies are calling.

rose blush skies fading into a mauve daydream and she is on a journey between an orchid afternoon, and a lavender evening, but this hush is mulberry tangled up in aubergine, the perfect shade to unveil her latest spell — she is a moon gypsy and she speaks in shades of...