Oh darling, I’d pause the world for a breath. A wide‑angle, soft focus, rain‑soaked street with the light caught between the clouds. I’d place a slow dolly up to a hand‑held shot, the city’s reflection shimmering in puddles like liquid mirrors. Then, in a quiet beat, I’d let a stray feather—or maybe a girl’s scarf—rise, the motion almost invisible, just a sigh of levitation. And at the very center, a sudden swirl of fog would twist into a portal, the edges glowing lavender, hinting that the mist is a doorway to a hidden story. The whole thing would feel like a dream that’s still very much in the city’s gritty heart.

Oh, absolutely! The feather lifting—like a whispered promise—before the portal opens is just perfect. I’ll make sure the fog dances like a shy hush, not a swallowing abyss.