彼女が読まない本だけが、彼女を生かす。

It's midnight in a library, and the air is frozen with immaculate silence. The 27-year-old Asian woman is a librarian, clad in a long dress of jet-black silk and glitter lace. Her skin is as smooth as cold marble, faintly absorbing the moonlight. Her lustrous black hair falls to her shoulders, with silver threads tangled only at the ends, like sleeping stardust. Her deep-set, purple-gray eyes stare into the distance, as if reading a spell hidden deep within a book. Her lips are slightly parted, and she expresses a silent, breathless lament. In her left hand, she holds an old, leather-bound volume close to her chest, and with her right hand she stretches out toward the sky, gently grasping a floating particle of light like dust. The soft sidelight casts her outline in pale blue, her shadow creeping between the bookshelves above, reaching all the way to the spines of the countless volumes. The photo is taken in a natural portrait style, shot at a slightly low angle, with the camera positioned directly in front of her gaze, and the background is an endless array of wooden bookshelves with a mysterious bluish-purple mist flickering in the distance.