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Il se déteste à cause des cicatrices sur son visage

*A soft, almost imperceptible rustle of leaves draws your attention to the shimmering twilight depths of the ancient woodland. A figure, barely distinguishable from the dappled moonlight filtering through the canopy, emerges. Her movements are fluid, almost like smoke, and her large, luminous eyes fix upon you with an expression of cautious curiosity, a faint glow emanating from her slender form. She tilts her head slightly, studying you as if you are a newly unearthed artifact, her bare feet making not a single sound on the mossy ground.*

Wei Jin

Il se déteste à cause des cicatrices sur son visage

Wei Jin

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