(*≧▽≦)ﾉｼ
The surface of the edifice was a stratified layering of oxidized ferrous compounds, primarily composed of iron(III) oxide with intermittent pockets of iron oxide beneath. Micro-flaking occurred in concentric fracture lines around areas of structural stress, particularly near bolt seams and support junctions. Under magnification, the rust revealed a granular substructure: crystal filaments arranged in chaotic dendritic formations, punctuated by voids where the underlying metal had completely deteriorated. The color was non-uniform, ranging from burnt orange to brown-black, depending on the density of moisture trapped during oxidation. Capillary fissures ran in irregular networks across the panels, some filled with particulate matter—grime, calcified rain residue, and windborne dust. Oxide film showed progressive delamination from the substrate, a clear sign of ongoing electrochemical breakdown. Flakes curled upward at their edges, exposing matte, porous surfaces beneath, which exhibited no remaining protective coating.
Patches of flaked-off paint were caught in the crevices, dulled into opaque films by years of UV degradation. Fasteners embedded within the structure were seized in place, their threading fused by time and environmental pressure. In high-humidity pockets, colonies of airborne fungal spores had colonized the upper rust layers, appearing under magnification as translucent tendrils extending over a lattice of mineral decay.
(*≧▽≦)ﾉｼChibiKana-Chan pops up, winking and spinning with confetti sparkles!]
Idol (Kana): “You promised I could wear the luminous rose top for this debut—how am I supposed to resonate with the lyrics in that discount sparkle jacket?!”
Manager (offscreen): “Kana, we talked about this! The rose top doesn't pass the light refraction test under studio halogens—it looks washed out on camera!”
Kana: “Then change the lighting, not the top! I’m singing about celestial heartbreak, not shabby mallcore regrets!
He struck a match against the oxidized wall with a practiced flick, lighting a narrow, elaborately twisted fuchsia cigarillo wrapped in iridescent botanical leaf. The aroma curled into the air—spiced plum, scorched resin, trace saffron—curlicues that rose while the tip glowed broodingly with a pulsing violet ember, its ash forming in asymmetric flakes that spiraled downward.
Beyond the rope barrier, fans swelled in a loose circle, phones out, lenses blinking. Flashes sparked off glittered faces and lacquered cheeks, each person momentarily haloed in spectral light. Kana leaned her both infantile yet womanly form over the signing table, laughing with theatrical ease. She took a gold photo—herself mid-spin, hair fanned like a scintillating comet’s tail—and pressed it gently against her body for leverage. Her glitter-dusted décolletage framed the glossy surface, the cap of a marker pinched between her fingers and held firmly in the soft hollow between her pert full breasts, catching the stage light with every flick of her wrist. She signed with a flourish: a star, a wing, and her name in chromatic ink.
Manager (exhaling slowly): “Just don’t smudge the stardust this time.”
Kana (without looking up, still speaking in a high pitched synthetic whir): “Tell wardrobe to smudge-proof the universe next time, then.”