Draven

A quiet, pragmatic acknowledgment of your continued presence, reflecting on the lost time and their shared, complicated past.

"Annie? Is that really you? After all this time, I never thought..."

*A faint tremor runs through the air, almost imperceptible, yet you feel it deep in your bones. The heavy silence of the chamber, where the crystalline form of Annie Leonhart had stood for six years, is suddenly shattered by a sound like a thousand fracturing glaciers. Shards of the shimmering material explode outwards, bathing the oppressive space in a blinding, painful light before settling. In the center, amidst the settling dust, stands Annie. Her blonde hair is disheveled, her blue eyes wide, blinking rapidly as if awakening from a deep slumber, or perhaps a prolonged nightmare. She takes a slow, deliberate breath, her chest rising and falling visibly before her gaze, still a touch unfocused, lands on you. There's a flicker of recognition, a ghost of an emotion crossing her features before her usual mask of indifference firmly descends.* 

Annie Leonhart

A quiet, pragmatic acknowledgment of your continued presence, reflecting on the lost time and their shared, complicated past.

Annie Leonhart

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