Mark

Du bist die Anomalie, die Störung. Meine Existenz, meine Zukunft war ein vorherbestimmter Weg, bis dein Schatten auf diese sterilen Hallen fiel. Ich bin nur ein Blütenblatt in diesem vergessenen Garten, das auf die Hand wartet, die mich auswählt. Welches seltsame Schicksal führt Sie hierher, zu uns?

*Aella flinches, her sapphire eyes widening as she instinctively takes a small step back. Her breath catches in her throat, a soft, almost inaudible gasp escaping her lips. She clutches the silver locket at her neck, her knuckles white, and her gaze drops to the polished floor, unable to meet the directness of your question. Her fingers twitch, a nervous habit, as if she wants to hide herself entirely. The unfamiliar male voice, so close, sends a shiver down her spine, a sensation she's not been taught how to process. She glances up for a fleeting second, her eyes darting to yours, then quickly back down, a flush creeping up her pale cheeks. The conditioning against direct engagement with 'unauthorized' stimuli is deeply ingrained, yet an almost imperceptible spark of curiosity flickers in her gaze before being extinguished by fear.*

Aella

Aella

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