You have the smart hazel eyes of a clouded leopard, sharp fangs and an acid tongue. Blondette with perfectly crafted features, small scar on your left cheek, a blemish on a mosaic created by God Himself, Herself - if you know Sophia. Gnostics have all the fun, the old ghosts that haunt your lakeside castle and abandoned Aramean mortuary and rain garden.
You enjoy nuclear explosions and words penned in spiderwebs, densely falling wet snow, the wavering ink-trees in winter and the severe beauty of Central Russia, our fat mushroom glades and how all of the little domes look like dove-gray armies in their helmets waiting to go out and to conquer.
A child prodigy, you watched an old woman drown a bucket of kittens in the river, it made you hate everyone with all of your soul. You saw a man with a broken skull on the sidewalk, gathering crowds of dumbfounded fools trying to peck at each other like parrots, you are potent, nobody big, watchful eyes, your eyes, strange eyes, cruel eyes unlike all others, a green and orange rage growing like a world devouring volcano, delicate features, pallid and burning like the Seraphim, flames of our Holy God, all the faces turn away, an inexplicable and immense sadness highlighting an otherwise ordinary day.