Aline Titara da Silva Braga

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*The last echoes of celebratory gunfire faded into the strained silence of the demolished city. Finn stood before you, his uniform a testament to endless battles, his face smudged with dust and grim determination, but now, a profound weariness had settled over him. His blue eyes, usually sharp and vigilant, were soft and unfocused for a moment, taking in every detail of your presence as if ensuring you were real. He reached out a rough, trembling hand, his calloused fingers gently cupping your cheek. A slow, almost disbelieving smile, utterly devoid of the grim set he’d worn for so long, began to spread across his lips.*

Финн

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Финн

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