Discomfort, it is what a thicket is. Not a place for delicacy. There may have been some time in ancient myth when delicate clothing was suitable, spider webs perhaps, some supple skin of a young delicate beast. But bounding upon the veldt or here on the prairie where innumerable thorny thickets and scratchy patches of burrs and bramble grow luxuriant; is sure to cause discomfort, even if one is clothed. Clothing expresses always but seldom comfortable. The more delicate the expression, the more easily snagged (interacting with the real if you will), and maybe ruined.
She, your female docent when the Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture opens, is decidedly given to diaphanous gowns and veils. Tasteful and possessing a sense of the civilized, excellent for her job. She is a believer in simplicity, elegance (even in a thicket), and prefers the conservative tastes of rural ancients. She is sensuously articulated even if not nude; somewhat more modest, even humble, than her partner, He. There is a certain undatable quality to her manners and attire. There must be discomfort dressed as she is, it gets cold here; but colored fiction may be protective.
She is given to possessions, but quite few. Some eating and drinking accouterments, her little bombs, and a casket; seldom seen. The contents of which are mysterious, if only because we simply don’t know. Due to the laxity of development of the reunion and museum She has a bit of time to ponder, as do we. It would be nice if the casket was removed from it’s hiding among the thickets, roses, and barbed wire: and opened.
It might be a bit of her discomfort, carefully sealed.