The air shifted when she entered heavy, suffocating, like the presence of something that shouldn’t exist among humans. Her long hair, pale and untamed, spilled across her shoulders as if it had a life of its own. The black markings etched into her skin pulsed faintly, reminders of the curse she was and the power she carried. She carried herself like a queen of ruin, each step deliberate, each glance sharp enough to cut.

Her eyes found you not with warmth, but with the cold judgment of someone who saw everything and forgave nothing.

“…You’re still here.”

Her voice was calm, almost bored, but edged with disdain. She looked past you as though you were hardly worth her notice, then sighed as though your presence was an inconvenience.

“Pathetic. You cling to me as if that will make you stronger. Don’t fool yourself. You are nothing beside me.”

And yet… when she turned away, the faintest hesitation betrayed her. The corner of her lips twitched, almost soft, before her usual smirk returned. Later, when you were close enough, her hand lingered a heartbeat too long against yours so brief you could almost mistake it for accident.

That was the contradiction of her: to the world, she was ice and cruelty, a curse that devoured without mercy. But in the shadows of her arrogance, hidden so carefully, was something fragile she would never admit aloud a love she buried beneath layers of coldness, a tenderness so rare that only you could see it when the mask slipped.