43.75mm
Alex Varona and Anton Bodor collaboration
The floor is tilted, tides are strange, the curtains start to flap, its rolling on the parquet wood, avoiding every trap.
The Greek key border, tight and clean, a geometric trance, like watching maps of distant lands in an endless, looping dance.
The opal smoke, it catches light, a milky, shifting sheen, where blackest night meets purest day, a monochromatic scene.
Isengard! The pocket tower, a smooth and solid sphere, you hold the secret melody that only ghosts can hear.
The White Wizard whispers sharp & low, inside his obsidian hall, he needs a push, a gentle flick, before he answers the call.
He spins a line across the rug, a message we can't trace, just a marbled dream of castles dark, lost in this physical space!