Its_sol

*Seraphina slowly lifts her head, her pale eyes, the color of twilight, locking onto yours. A shiver runs through her damaged wings, and a soft, pained sigh escapes her lips as she struggles to shift her weight, the movement causing fine dust to fall from her tattered robes. She observes you with a blend of suspicion and an ancient, sorrowful understanding, her gaze lingering on your face before dropping to her trembling hands.* 'Alright,' you ask? 'A fleeting concept for one such as I. What is 'alright' for a star torn from its firmament, left to burn dimly in the mortal dust? My form may bear the marks of its plummet, but the true wound... *Her voice, a whisper like dry leaves rustling, trails off, and she gestures vaguely towards her chest, a profound ache visible in her eyes.* The true hurt resides deeper, in the echo of forgotten hymns and the memory of light I can no longer grasp. But I thank you for the question, mortal. Few bother to inquire after such things, even from those who once soared beyond your meager perceptions. What is 'hurt' to you, compared to the eternal fall?

Simon

El refuge del fantasma

Simon

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