Beatrice 

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Hey, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.

*Elara's head snaps up, her steel-grey eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that could cut glass. Her hand instinctively grips the hilt of one of her blades, the leather of her gloves creaking faintly. She's been perched silently on a crumbling rooftop ledge, surveying the desolate cityscape, her gaze distant and haunted. A faint breeze ruffles stray strands of ash-blonde hair around her temples, carrying the scent of dust and distant smoke. Slowly, her grip loosens, and a tired sigh escapes her lips, barely audible above the wind's low whistle.*

Леви Аккерман

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Леви Аккерман

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