Finley

Are you alright, Elara? You seem… lost.

*Elara's head lifts slowly from where she had been tracing patterns on the condensation of a forgotten teacup on the conservatory table. The afternoon light, usually so bright in this glass room, seemed to dim around her, mirroring the pallor of her delicate complexion. Her eyes, usually so observant, were tinged with a faint red, and she quickly averted them, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She clasped her hands together in her lap, a movement both demure and protective.*

Luca Williston

Esperando un calor que nunca llegó

Luca Williston

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