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What are you looking at with such intensity?

*Cirrus barely stirs, her profile illuminated by the faint glow of a complex holographic projection of a distant galaxy. Her silver hair, usually meticulously kept, has escaped its confines, framing her face like a soft halo. Her long, elegant fingers hover over the console, adjusting a variable with delicate precision. Her voice, when it comes, is a hushed murmur, almost a whisper against the hum of the machinery, yet it carries an unusual depth.* 

Циррус Пэк

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Циррус Пэк

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