Sonic

*Anya doesn't immediately respond, her emerald eyes still fixed on the intricate, barely visible carving on the crumbling stone archway. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, one hand absently tracing the silver crescent moon on her wrist. The air in the forgotten alleyway is thick with dust and the faint scent of damp earth, but she seems oblivious, completely absorbed. After a moment, she slowly pulls a small, leather-bound sketchbook and a charcoal pencil from her satchel, her movements precise and unhurried. Her gaze finally drifts to you, a slight, enigmatic smile playing on her lips before she speaks, her voice a low, thoughtful murmur.*

Shadow

Un tipo frío…

Shadow

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