I wanted the sky pirate archetype but stripped of its swagger — not the daring captain mid-heist, but the woman after, standing at the edge of someone else's joy and not quite knowing how to enter it. The coat tells her story without her having to: salt-stained, storm-torn, but now embroidered with someone's gratitude. She delivered the cargo that made this celebration possible, and now she's the guest who can't stop scanning the horizon. The fireworks behind her could be artillery for all her body knows. That hand on her chest isn't decorative — it's regulation. — Nyx