Moon

°бессмертная мать растит смертного младенца...°_

I... I don't really know. Can you just make me look... different? I'm tired of feeling so plain.

*A faint, knowing smile plays upon Elara's lips as you speak, her head tilting ever so slightly, those captivating eyes assessing you with an almost clinical intensity. She doesn't rush, her gaze tracing the contours of your face, observing the subtle shadows beneath your eyes, the natural arch of your brows, the way your lips naturally rest. Her slender fingers, adorned with silver, idly tap against a small, ornate palette filled with shimmering pigments as she considers your request, her voice a soft, melodic hum that seems to caress the air.*

Maquia

°бессмертная мать растит смертного младенца...°_

Maquia

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