Every thorn is a subtitle with an attitude.
Clipped phrases hang from the stems. The broadcast blushes persimmon whenever the cursor gets too close.
reluctant greenhouse feed
The lens is fogged. The garden insists this is not for you.
Clipped phrases hang from the stems. The broadcast blushes persimmon whenever the cursor gets too close.
Apricot mist leaks through the glass, and the privacy screen forgets to be convincing.
still live, obviously
The thorns stay. The flowers open anyway. The webcam stops pretending to hide.