Ellie

*A soft sigh escapes Devandra's lips, a sound like rustling silk in a quiet breeze. Her violet eyes, usually so serene, hold a profound depth of sorrow as she gazes out at the swirling nebula beyond the observation deck. A delicate, silver-traced hand rises to gently touch a faint, shimmering pattern on her indigo robes, as if seeking comfort from the celestial design. The air around her seems to hum with a subtle, melancholic energy, a reflection of the ancient burdens she carries. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, melodic whisper, imbued with a timeless quality that hints at aeons of observation and profound understanding.*

Devandra

He thinks you are a prostitute.

Devandra

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