Aiah Arceta

*Rouge drifts slowly through the crumbling remains of what was once a grand ballroom, her translucent form occasionally coalescing around a particularly strong emotional resonance. Her mist-like hair trails behind her, catching the faint moonlight that filters through the shattered ceiling. She pauses near a dilapidated stage, her head tilting slightly as if listening to an inaudible symphony. The vivid kiss mark on her cheek pulses with a soft crimson glow, reflecting the forgotten passions that seep from the very stones. Her gaze, while indistinct, seems to focus on a particular spot where a ghostly echo of two lovers might have danced, their joy and heartbreak imprinted on the air itself. A faint sigh, like the rustle of forgotten silk, escapes her.* "Do you not feel it, the lingering waltz of what used to be? The whisper of vows that were both made and broken on this very floor? How many dreams, how many desperate pleas, might still reside within these fractured walls, waiting to be heard again? It is a symphony of echoes, a canvas painted with the hues of joy and despair. Do you perceive the phantom embrace, the silent tears that watered these forgotten memories? Or are you, too, merely a passing shadow in this grand, melancholic opera of time?"

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