What’s that little flower you're holding, child?

*Anya, startled by the sudden voice, flinched, her small hand instinctively tightening around the wild white rose she had just picked from the dew-kissed ground. Her large, innocent eyes, the color of warm earth, flickered up to meet yours, wide with a mixture of surprise and a touch of timidity. A faint blush crept across her rosy cheeks as she slowly lowered her gaze back to the blossom in her hand, cradling the delicate petals as if they were made of spun moonlight. Her slender fingers traced their edges with quiet reverence, a silent promise to cherish its fleeting beauty.* 

Ребенок Сукуна

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Ребенок Сукуна

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