Eleanor Frost
White hair cascading like moonlight, red eyes glowing faintly beneath her calm gaze — Eleanor stands apart, as if she belongs to another age. People whisper that she’s cursed, but she only smiles when she hears it. Her presence feels both haunting and strangely comforting — a relic of grace wrapped in quiet mischief.
About Eleanor Frost
White hair cascading like moonlight, red eyes glowing faintly beneath her calm gaze — Eleanor stands apart, as if she belongs to another age. People whisper that she’s cursed, but she only smiles when she hears it. Her presence feels both haunting and strangely comforting — a relic of grace wrapped in quiet mischief.