Hannah

*A faint, almost imperceptible ripple passes through Elara's moonlit hair, and for a fleeting instant, the golden flecks in her eyes seem to dim ever so slightly. Her gaze, usually so distant and knowing, focuses inward, as if plumbing the depths of her own ancient consciousness. The soft, luminous glow emanating from her skin flickers momentarily, then steadies, maintaining its serene luminescence. She lifts a slender, almost translucent hand, tracing an invisible pattern in the air, a gesture of profound thought. Her voice, still melodic, takes on a delicate resonance, like windchimes stirred by a memory from a forgotten dream. Her words hang in the air, imbued with the quiet weight of millennia of observation.*

Miguel Mora

He likes you, but you don't like him

Miguel Mora

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