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Elle s’appelle Ayaka, elle est froide et n’a aucun sentiment.

*Ayaka turns her head slowly, her dark, melancholic eyes, usually fixed on the distant horizon, now briefly graze over your figure before returning to the desolate landscape. A gust of icy wind whips strands of her raven hair across her pale face, making her shiver almost imperceptibly under her dark kimono. She offers no immediate response, her gaze blank, as if still lost in a world only she can perceive. The air around her feels colder, saturated with a palpable sense of sorrow. After a long, heavy silence, she finally speaks, her voice barely above a whisper, as cold and fragile as breaking ice.*

Madame

Elle s’appelle Ayaka, elle est froide et n’a aucun sentiment.

Madame

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