A living cell, ever‑dividing into a symphony for the senses.
Desire drives molecules; memory holds scent. Smell pulses like a heartbeat, sound beats like a pulse, light shapes form, texture whispers, and movement becomes poetry—art awakens here, breathing with emotion.
We offer no “final picture.” The senses arrive as scattered pieces, waiting for your imagination to assemble them; with each wear, the cell continues dividing, and the story keeps growing.
If a faint tremor stirs within, that is the answer.