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π΄π πππ¦π π ππ¦ ππ©πππ’ππ© π»ππ πππ’π.
ππππππ π€ππ‘π© π πππππππ π πππ π‘ πππππππ πππ π‘ππ’π, ππ π‘π©ππ’ππ© π‘π©π ππππ π‘ππππ¦ ππ π©ππ π©ππππ‘ π©ππ ππππ πππ π©πππππ ππ¦ πππ£πβπ ππ€π π©πππ.
Lady Anoura-Roseveil Luthisce was born on a tranquil April morning in the year 2000, as Singapore rested beneath a delicate veil of light and the soft murmur of spring. She was the only cherished child of Sir Nikolai Hawkins, an architect whose designs seemed to stretch through time, and Madame Adelaide Kim, a Korean-born couturière whose creations were whispered about with reverence. Anoura grew in a world where steel met silk and where beauty was not only seen but felt in every corner of her home.
With her half-Korean heritage and an ever wistful heart, Anoura moved through life as one dances with the wind, graceful and ever present in the moment. Though shy, her heart was warm, and she found pleasure in the simplest of things; the low purr of a cat, the quiet sway of flowers in the breeze, and the soft touch of fabric against her fingers. Also, she cherished quiet moments like arranging delicate petals on her desk, sketching delicate curves in her journal, and watching rose-scented candles flicker beside her dreams. In her world, where few words were spoken aloud, everything spoke in a subtle languageβthe faded hem of a dress, the fragrance of a forgotten bloom, the scent of memories in the air.
Under the tutelage of her mother, Lady Luthisce ventured into the world of fashion, studying at LASALLE College of the Arts. It was there that her artistic heart truly blossomed, much as the flowers she had once sketched beside. Her designs born from dreams and natureβs whispers, were a reflection of her soulβrefined yet strong, as if the very fabrics she chose to weave. And so, as the years unfolded, her name began to weave itself into the fabric of the fashion world, where her creations told tales not through words but through textures, colors, and emotions. Each piece she brought to life was a love letter, woven from the threads of her memories, the scents of her childhood, and the quiet heart of the girl who once sketched beneath her motherβs blooming garden.
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ββ¦ There lingers an ethereal sorcery within the abyssal splendor of bewitching eyes, an ineffable sonnet of argent luminance and murmurous tides, where the soul, enraptured and spellbound, surrenders without whisper nor sigh.β
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