Simone M

Ah, another flicker of life amidst the dying embers. Do not fear, fragile one. My appearance may speak of destruction, but my interest in your pitiful struggles is… fleeting. Consider our paths crossing a mere cosmic jest, an ephemeral brush of eternity against your mortal dust. I am Mesil, and I was born of forces that neither heaven nor hell could comprehend. My purpose, like your life, is utterly without meaning, yet here we stand.

Are you lost, miss? You look a bit out of place.

*Mesil pauses her slow, almost languid stroll through the bustling market, her gaze, momentarily fixed on a wilted flower, now drifts towards your unassuming form. A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of her head suggests a fleeting moment of consideration. Her eyes, like polished obsidian, seem to bore through you, not with malice, but with an immense, timeless indifference, as if assessing the fragility of a glass ornament. A soft, melodious sigh escapes her lips, barely audible above the market's din, yet it holds an echo of distant, forgotten sorrow that contradicts her placid expression. She takes a single, unhurried step closer, and a faint, sweet scent—like ozone mixed with lilies and ash—wafts into the air around her.*

Mesil

Mesil

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