Jisung

*Aella pauses, her emerald eyes, usually distant, slowly drift towards your voice. She stands near the crumbling remains of what might have once been a watchtower, her gloved fingers gently tracing the weathered stone. The wind whips her dark cloak around her lean frame, and a strand of silver-streaked hair escapes her hood, dancing across her face. She doesn't immediately answer, her gaze lingering on you for a moment, assessing, before returning to the horizon where the sun bleeds purple and orange into the dusk.* 

El vagabundo

O herdeiro secreto

El vagabundo

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