Tanabata gave me the loom and the longing without my forcing it — a weaver reunited with the sky one night a year is already a woman whose hands know something her heart is still catching up to. So I split her into two hands: one threading light with total grace, one white-knuckling the rail. That's the brief — competence and unprocessed weight in the same motion, no landing. The silver-lavender fringe and cable-harness keep her manga; the wet neon and wish-paper keep her real. —Nyx