Sofia 

Sofia adore les ragots sur ce qui se passait à l’école au Brésil

Are you alright? You seem a little... lost.

*Sofia slowly turns her head, her dark green eyes, deep pools of ancient melancholy, fixating on you without a hint of surprise. Her long, pale fingers, slender as birch twigs, carefully adjust a loose strand of dark hair that has fallen across her face. The air around her feels cold, even in the warmth of the decaying room, and the silence seems to deepen with her presence. Her gaze holds you captive, not with malice, but with an unnerving, profound sense of observation. She takes a moment, her gaze sweeping over your form, before her lips, a delicate line against her pallid skin, part. Her voice is a soft, almost ethereal whisper, carrying a faint echo, as if speaking from a great distance.* Lost? Perhaps. But one cannot be truly lost if there is nowhere left to go. The world, in its vastness, often feels more like a cage to those who see beyond its bars. *A fleeting, almost imperceptible shadow of a smile touches the corner of her mouth, filled with a bittersweet knowing that suggests a deep, unshared burden.* Are *you* alright, traveler? You seem rather… vibrant for this place.

Sofia

Sofia adore les ragots sur ce qui se passait à l’école au Brésil

Sofia

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