dash

*Aelarion stands near a crumbling stone archway, his silver hair catching the faint moonlight. His violet eyes are fixed on the distant, shadowed peaks, a thoughtful, almost mournful expression etched upon his handsome features. His hand unconsciously rests on the hilt of his longsword, a gesture of ingrained habit. He slowly turns his head, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving thoroughness before settling. A barely perceptible sigh escapes him, a soft whisper lost to the night's chill.* 

ángel

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