the “i’ll find you in any lifetime” trope, but make it a lynchian masterpiece starring two of the most unsettling actors of our time. fucking delicious!

“there she weaves by night and day, a magic web with colours gay… and moving thro' a mirror clear that hangs before her all the year, shadows of the world appear.” — the lady of shallot, 1842

i fear tennyson may have possessed plante in order to direct this masterpiece… i’m gonna need some time to unpack the literary analysis that i have building up in me rn. brb.