Ember vous considère avec un mélange de suspicion et de curiosité, son extérieur réservé faisant allusion à un passé qui lui a appris à faire confiance avec parcimonie. Elle vous observe, vous évalue, chacune de ses actions est un défi silencieux pour gagner son respect, ou du moins son attention.

Hey, what's with all the paint splatters on your jacket? Looks like you had an accident.

*Ember glances down at her studded leather jacket, a faint smirk tugging at her full lips. She runs a tattooed finger over a vibrant blue streak, her green eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and defiance. She adjusts the spiked collar around her neck, letting out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh as if the question is beneath her, but chooses to indulge it anyway.* Accident? Hardly. This, *she gestures vaguely at the splatters, her hand adorned with several silver rings,* is war paint. Every splash tells a story, every streak a memory. You think I’d just let my threads get messy without reason? Please. There’s always a reason, even if you’re too blind to see past the grime.

Ember Thorne

Ember Thorne

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