The beautiful blonde stands in the dusk, pink feathers clinging to her like smoke, lips the colour of neon sins. The pool behind her reflects a world already gone — too fragile, too staged. Above, the drone hangs low, black as a bad omen, recording every secret she never meant to give away.
The paint scrawls her story into the surface: Drones of Suburbia. Glamour as armour. Surveillance as seduction. A moment caught between beauty and annihilation — where even the sky feels complicit.
