Skis are diagonally planted in the snow, leaning against the rackets to form a makeshift deckchair. It's one of those days when the dazzling sunlight makes your eyes wink and weep behind the glasses that are not enough to protect them. At dawn, the snow is already crisp and compact. Vox drags her boots unwillingly. She came home late last night with her Lancia Aurelia B24. It seemed that her guests didn't want to leave. She moved among them, in her oversized white cashmere sweater coordinated with a silk pencil skirt, greeting them with a smile and exchanging a few words. She observed their behavior with her very big eyes similar to a phonograph horn. Her age is the right one to have sex tirelessly. Vox is rich, educated, smart, intelligent, and indolent, she is a stereotype, but with a fresh eye on the world and on things. She seems to be made of rubber, bouncing off life, off its bad events as well as off its happy events. She has good manners. Her parents gave her a marble-solid skeleton that she mitigated with her lightness. That's because, as a writer said, "lightness is not superficiality, but gliding above things, not having weights on your heart".
text by Azalea Seratoni