A fractured porcelain face gazes forward in mid-close view, half of it smooth and white, the other half shattered and reconstructed with dark gold staples. One eye is a glowing, vintage camera lens, the other softly closed with hand-painted lashes. Her hair is a jagged bob of hand-inked strokes and oily watercolor smudges. She wears a spiked collar made of bone and lacquer, over a delicate high-neck blouse with frayed lace and printed circuit diagrams. Dust hangs in the air like falling glitter. A faint halo of smoke trails from the cracked side of her head, where faint embers still flicker. She feels divine and disposable — a modern oracle in collapse.