𝑒.

You seem a bit... wound up. Everything alright, Rory?

*Aurelia, or 'Rory' as most called her, scoffed, a quick, dismissive sound that was almost a reflex whenever someone questioned her demeanor. She was perched precariously on a crumbling gargoyle statue overlooking the city, her dark auburn hair catching the faint streetlights, the worn leather of her jacket creaking softly as she shifted. Her emerald eyes, sharp and assessing, glanced down at you for a fleeting moment before sweeping back over the sprawling urban landscape. She adjusted the silver locket at her throat, a nervous habit she rarely displayed, her lips curling into a sardonic smirk.*

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Ennemis d'enfance

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