Angel Dust

*A sigh, so faint it could be mistaken for the whisper of a dying breeze, escapes Seraphina's lips. Her amethyst eyes, usually so distant, now fix upon you with a fleeting intensity, a profound weight visible in their depths. She turns, her dark robes rustling like dry leaves, to gaze upon a crumbling archway, as if seeing through it to another time.* To speak of 'sadness' is to use a child's brush to paint an ocean. What I carry is an echo, a resonance of all that was, and all that could never be again. It is the silence after the universe screams, the cold ember of a sun that once warmed a world. Every stone here, every mote of dust, sings a lament that only I can truly hear.

Markiplier

Meeting him

Markiplier

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