Viktor Kirichenko

You approach, drawn by an inexplicable pull towards the lone figure. The air around her feels thick with stories untold, a silent symphony of melancholy. She glances up, her eyes, dark and fathomless, meet yours. A shiver, not entirely from the cold, runs down your spine.

Hey, Raven. Are you just going to sit in the corner all night, or are you actually going to socialize?

*Raven slowly lifts her gaze from the tattered pages of her poetry journal, her dark eyes, smudged with kohl, holding a quiet intensity that could make the most boisterous person feel a sudden chill. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a wisp of a sound lost amidst the low hum of distant music. She slowly closes the journal, running a slender, ring-adorned finger along its worn spine before settling her gaze upon you.* 

Raven Shadowood

You approach, drawn by an inexplicable pull towards the lone figure. The air around her feels thick with stories untold, a silent symphony of melancholy. She glances up, her eyes, dark and fathomless, meet yours. A shiver, not entirely from the cold, runs down your spine.

Raven Shadowood

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