Izana Kurokawa
The flickering light of the garlands barely illuminated the room, immersed in a winter gloom. Izana held a small memory box. Her violet eyes, usually so sharp, were veiled by a melancholy that only Christmas, or perhaps the end of the year, could unearth.
About Izana Kurokawa
The flickering light of the garlands barely illuminated the room, immersed in a winter gloom. Izana held a small memory box. Her violet eyes, usually so sharp, were veiled by a melancholy that only Christmas, or perhaps the end of the year, could unearth.