My Free Butterfly

She blooms in wings, not skin, a woman made of drifting color green like a sky that forgot its blue, vast, breathing, unreal. Her footsteps never touch the ground, for the earth below burns in quiet flames, a fire that hums instead of screams, a Boden painted in restless heat. She hovers between what is and isn’t, a butterfly unbound by form, brushing the canvas with soft rebellion, turning silence into motion. And in that strange horizon where green sky meets the fire below she becomes both question and answer, a fleeting shape that refuses to fall.

Chain

TEZOS

Network

Tezos

Contract

KT1WYaRpHvyHbu3rDgWdj3p14wybn7ZKY8Dt

Token ID

71