At dusk, on a rooftop terrace overlooking the Bosphorus and the domes of Süleymaniye, a woman in a magnificent crimson gown stands facing the horizon. The long folds of her dress spill over a Persian carpet, cascading like liquid fire under the fading light. Around her, hundreds of seagulls circle and rise into the amber sky, their wings slicing through the air in rhythm with the distant hum of the city below. Yet above her head, reality begins to waver a luminous blue silk ribbon floats where her face should be, twisting and dissolving into the wind as if her thoughts had escaped into the twilight. The merging colors the burning red of her gown and the ethereal blue of the drifting fabric create surreal shades of violet and gold that shimmer over the rooftops. The domes of the mosque glow softly behind her, their outlines breathing in the last light of day. The scene feels suspended between dream and awakening: the breeze carries echoes of prayer, feathers, and silk; the city seems to inhale Istanbul itself caught in the moment between fire and air, between body and spirit.