It begins with Lena.

She looks down at you — not with arrogance, but with the practiced indifference of someone born into expectation. Every curl of her powdered hair, every precise placement of ribbon and pearl, is armor. Elegance isn’t soft here — it’s calculated, strategic, and cold.

Lena’s beauty is disarming, but beneath the surface, there’s defiance. A tension behind her eyes. A warning in her posture. She holds her chin like she’s had to survive admiration and betrayal in equal measure.

This image doesn’t just echo a bygone era — it exposes the theater of it. The performance. The pain that comes with being placed on a pedestal just before it's burned to the ground.