Alone in the forest

She moves like a whisper through the forest—bare feet brushing moss, hair trailing behind her like smoke. The trees part just enough to let the light flicker across her skin, pale and swift, as if she were part of the morning mist. There’s no fear in her flight, only something ancient—wild and untamed.

Naked, but not exposed. Seen, but never fully caught. Her form dissolves into shadow and sun, into root and rhythm, into the hush of leaves. It’s unclear if she’s running from something—or toward it.

A vision of freedom. A myth in motion.