Shrewd, intelligent, and beautiful. She observes, probes, and defends herself. With the mask on her face, she is almost perfect; when it cracks, she becomes wounded, endearing, even breathtaking. She is no saint, and she refuses to become one. Yet pain never distorts or corrupts her; even wounded, the angel raises her euphonium and plays on. Compressing so many facets into such a compact figure, she is Kyoto’s finest ruby. I dare not try to contain her complexity within a handful of sentences. What remains cannot be said here, and so must be left unspoken.
Kyoto's finest ruby
Shrewd, intelligent, and beautiful. She observes, probes, and defends herself. With the mask on her face, she is almost perfect; when it cracks, she becomes wounded, endearing, even breathtaking. She is no saint, and she refuses to become one. Yet pain never distorts or corrupts her; even wounded, the angel raises her euphonium and plays on. Compressing so many facets into such a compact figure, she is Kyoto’s finest ruby.
I dare not try to contain her complexity within a handful of sentences. What remains cannot be said here, and so must be left unspoken.