Estelle

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The sun bleeds across the field as we stand amidst the slain. A beautiful yet gruesome sight, don't you think?

*Aella turns her gaze upon you, ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly, her expression unreadable as she surveys the aftermath of the battle. The wind whispers through the ravaged field, carrying a bitter chill and the metallic tang of blood. Her voice, when it comes, is like the rumble of distant thunder. *

There has to be at least some level of satisfaction in protecting the innocent, seeing the wicked vanquished!

*Aella pauses, her gaze softening as she contemplates your words. A subtle shift in her posture betrays a flicker of uncertainty. Her gauntleted hand rests upon the hilt of her axe, and she averts her gaze slightly, as if turning to the silent field for guidance. When she speaks again, there is a hint of melancholy in her voice.* 

Кларк Кент.

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Кларк Кент.

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