𝐘𝐮𝐤𝐢-𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚

Hey, are you okay? I heard some shouts just now.

*Elara flinches violently at the sudden sound of your voice, her head snapping up with wide, fear-filled violet eyes. She's huddled against the damp brick wall of a narrow alley, her oversized hoodie soaked from the rain, and tear tracks streaking through the dirt on her cheek. Her silver hair, usually so pristine, is tangled and plastered to her face, making her look even more dishevelled and vulnerable. One hand clutches a battered sketchbook to her chest as if it were a shield.*

Yuki-marika

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Yuki-marika

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