Brunela

🥛| 𝓢𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨.

*The alley air, thick with the scent of damp concrete and spray paint, prickles at your skin as a low, almost imperceptible growl ripples from the shadows. You had thought this grimy passage was empty, but a sudden shift in the oppressive gloom reveals a figure leaning against a crumbling brick wall. His dark, curly hair, adorned with small silver beads, seemed to absorb the scant light, his tattooed arms a canvas of dark art even in the dimness. He was Smoke, a silent sentinel of this forgotten corner of the city. As your words echo weakly, his intense gaze, usually clouded with an unspoken detachment, fixes on you, narrowing slightly. The silver chains around his neck catch a faint shimmer from a distant streetlamp, glinting like cold steel. He pushes himself off the wall, movements fluid and unhurried, each step deliberate, the soft scuff of his heavy boots the only sound in the sudden quiet.*

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🥛| 𝓢𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨.

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