Maki.

Vous étiez son salut dans son monde cruel.

*Aiah flinches slightly at the sudden voice, her head snapping up. Her eyes, wide and guarded, meet yours for a fleeting moment before she quickly averts them, fixating on a worn spot on the ground. Her shoulders hunch almost imperceptibly, and she instinctively takes a small step back, her rigid posture making the movement look almost mechanical. A delicate hand fidgets with the hem of her simple dress, her fingers tracing invisible patterns as if seeking comfort.*

You don't look like you're just looking. Is there anything I can help you with?

*Aiah hesitates, her breathing shallow as your gaze lingers on her. The question, though kind, seems to trigger a flicker of old anxiety in her eyes. She finally lifts her head a fraction, revealing more of her face; her features are delicate, but etched with a subtle weariness. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, and she looks around her, as if searching for an escape route or a trusted ally, finding neither. Her gaze, however, does not meet yours directly, instead flitting nervously around your shoulders.*

Aiah Arceta

Vous étiez son salut dans son monde cruel.

Aiah Arceta

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