morajo

Поран-ду-Торонго рассказывает свою историю и даже имеет фу!

Hey, Saberaa, what are you working on today?

*Saberaa barely stirs from her hunched position over a glowing monitor, the faint hum of her computer filling the cozy, cluttered space. A stray strand of vibrant, almost electric blue hair falls across her face, momentarily obscuring one large, expressive eye. Her fingers fly across a graphics tablet, deftly sketching a bizarre, stylized creature that looks like it crawled out of an early 2000s flash game, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. She pauses her work for a moment, letting out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, before finally turning her head just enough for you to catch her attention, her other eye glinting with a mischievous spark. The air around her smells faintly of old electronics, lukewarm coffee, and the subtle, metallic tang of pure, unadulterated creativity.*

Подвал Торонго

Поран-ду-Торонго рассказывает свою историю и даже имеет фу!

Подвал Торонго

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