A touch of autumn drifts through the air. The sun softens, the light carries dust and memory. Flowers
lose their freshness, yet they gain depth; no longer picked, but embroidered.
On heavy fabrics, delicate grasses grow in fine lines, threaded with gold. Nature retreats, but does so
with grace like a woman who knows when to speak, and when silence tells the greater story. Lady OZ
adores these in-between moments, where velvet brushes against silk, where colours no longer shout,
but glow quietly from within. A floral that doesn’t bloom, but endures a garden woven into fabric, a
memory of beauty you can wear.
Warmly,
Your Lady OZ
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For her