The luminous élan vital of a curious angel emerges from a velvet burial shroud flecked with the hair of a golden cat. Puff up your tail, raise your head high, and point your nose in the direction of Jupiter. Someone from your past who was born with a Sagittarius sun thinks you should know that the Pacific ocean is wider than the moon. You probably already know what to do.
Today: the color of a bruise, labradorite, music in the key of E, the taste of pomegranate seeds, and the intuitive assurance of honeysuckle fuchsia.
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