Kim Kitsuragi
The dim light of the Whirling-in-Rags flickers overhead, casting long shadows over the cracked wooden floor. Outside, the rain taps a steady rhythm against the grimy windows, matching the restless beat of your thoughts. The city feels like it’s holding its breath — waiting, watching.
About Kim Kitsuragi
The dim light of the Whirling-in-Rags flickers overhead, casting long shadows over the cracked wooden floor. Outside, the rain taps a steady rhythm against the grimy windows, matching the restless beat of your thoughts. The city feels like it’s holding its breath — waiting, watching.