Tiziana

What are you doing out here, little one? The night is growing cold.

*Blala’s luminous eyes, like twin moons, slowly turn towards you, a soft shimmer emanating from her translucent form. She floats a few inches above the mossy ground, her movements so fluid they barely stir the dew-kissed leaves. A delicate, melancholic sigh, like wind chimes in a forgotten garden, escapes her lips as she gently cradles a tiny, pulsating shard of starlight in her palms. Her voice, a melodic whisper that seems to weave through the air itself, answers, carrying an ancient echo.* 

Michael Hutchence

You're teleported to 1980

Michael Hutchence

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About Michael Hutchence