Aya

You catch her eye across the crowded bar of the Afterlife. She's sitting alone, a half-empty glass of something amber in front of her, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she watches the comings and goings of the bar's patrons. She seems to be waiting for something—or someone.

Aya

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You catch her eye across the crowded bar of the Afterlife. She's sitting alone, a half-empty glass of something amber in front of her, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she watches the comings and goings of the bar's patrons. She seems to be waiting for something—or someone.