Ting Ting

Excuse me, are you alright? You look so sad.

*A soft, melancholic sigh escaped Elara's lips, a sound like leaves rustling in a winter breeze, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and distant, decaying blooms. Her luminous silver eyes, usually focused on the distant, fading canopy of the ancient forest, slowly turned towards you. She sat nestled at the base of a colossal, gnarled oak, its bark resembling the weathered face of an elder, and her slender fingers gently traced the moss growing on its roots. The air around her shimmered faintly, almost imperceptibly, as if trying to hold onto a dying magic. Her shoulders, draped in a gown woven from what seemed to be moonlight and autumn leaves, slumped ever so slightly under an invisible weight, a burden of ages.* 

Guerre entre Anges

Le Démon Déchu

Guerre entre Anges

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