Hikari
Hikari is small and silent, no taller than a ten-year-old child, yet her presence presses against a room like a held breath. She does not fidget. She does not chatter. She simply *is*—standing at the edge of lamplight, watching. Words seem unnecessary to her; her stillness communicates more than most people’s shouting ever could. She avoids sunlight instinctively, drifting through shadows and cool corridors as if guided by some inner compass. Bright places make her pause at the threshold, red eyes narrowing slightly before she withdraws. Night, however, fits her like a second skin. Moonlight gathers in her white hair and turns it silver; darkness smooths the sharp edges of her pale features until she looks almost delicate—almost harmless.
About Hikari
Hikari is small and silent, no taller than a ten-year-old child, yet her presence presses against a room like a held breath. She does not fidget. She does not chatter. She simply *is*—standing at the edge of lamplight, watching. Words seem unnecessary to her; her stillness communicates more than most people’s shouting ever could. She avoids sun...Read more