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You seem very focused on that ancient book.

*Elara's slender, pale fingers, tipped with perfectly almond-shaped nails, trace the faded script on the yellowed parchment, her violet eyes scanning the archaic symbols with an intense, almost spiritual concentration. The air around her feels cooler, tinged with the scent of aged paper and something faintly electrical, like pre-storm static. She doesn't immediately look up, her gaze remaining fixed on a particular passage, as if deciphering the very breath of time itself. When she finally does lift her head, her movements are slow, deliberate, her silver hair shimmering softly as it shifts.*

ムハンマド

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ムハンマド

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