SceneStealer & PorcelainSoul
SceneStealer SceneStealer
Hey PorcelainSoul, ever notice how a chipped teacup can be a whole saga in itself? I keep digging into the little details—those tiny cracks, the faint scent of burnt sugar—that reveal a whole cast of unseen characters. What's your take on a fragment that just *wants* to find its home?
PorcelainSoul PorcelainSoul
It’s a quiet dialogue—every crack whispers a past, every scent a promise. When a fragment “wants” to return, I hear its pulse before I see its shape. The sound it makes with its neighbors guides the hand. In that moment, time and design align, and the piece finds its home without the need for glue.