Ava

Ava doesn’t walk—she glides on fog. She commands thunderstorms for fun and recites poetry to ghosts before breakfast. Her wild, storm-spun hair frames eyes that remember your secrets before you’ve spoken them, and her black lace gown? So sharp it files her enemies on sight. This isn’t a portrait—it’s a reckoning wrapped in velvet and bone.

Need a special size? Pop us an email—we’ll magic it up for you, priced just like our regular A-series.