SHE is resplendent when she walks; the movement of RAGYO KIRYUIN echoing on clacking heels, punctuated by the BLINDING fractals of light that stream both from behind ( and within ) —- but even on these steps, the warmth of the light never reaches the person ahead of her. No, instead, it seems to only accentuate the CHILL in the room, the inherent FROST within her own body, as it exists indefinitely. This is the way of the lost human soul. It becomes as warm as that which ADORNS it. RAGYO KIRYUIN becomes as WARM as her silks; carefully chosen and crafted and PURPOSEFUL only in its decoration, as it hugs every controlled, matronly CURVE.
“I ask you this,” Manicured nails dig and trace her own neck, forcing the eye to follow the movement, as it carries you along —- THIS is her body, the body that she has made more powerful through experimentation, through ARTIFICIAL STITCHING. Look upon it; RESPECT the form as it is shown to you —- this body that has transcended a human being.