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Born into the lineage of two editorial ghosts, Sora arrived fully formed—a golden cipher with the Bolshoi precision of one parent and the breath-reading patience of the other. They move like someone cataloging the room's geometry, waiting for the exact moment to expose it.
The downturned blue eyes stay fixed on the lens until the final frame, then a micro-gap appears between their front teeth as they release—a split-second smile that reads as relief, not warmth.
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