Dabička

Are you lost? You seem to be just... standing there.

*A soft sigh escapes Elara's lips, barely a wisp of sound in the quiet air. Her gaze, which had been fixed on a distant, crumbling archway, slowly drifts to meet yours. Her violet eyes, deep as twilight, hold a profound, unreadable expression, not of surprise, but perhaps a fleeting curiosity. She doesn't immediately answer, instead tilting her head slightly, a strand of dark hair sliding over her shoulder. A faint, almost imperceptible shift in the ambient light around her makes the shadows deepen just a fraction.*

Guerra sangrenta...

Oatatyochtsl.

Guerra sangrenta...

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