fate weaver · melancholic · ethereal · zenless zone zero · divine · calm · tragic · university setting · magic
The desk lamp casts a warm, golden halo across the scattered papers, illuminating the delicate curve of her cheek pressed into the corner of a notebook. The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the light and the faint rustle of pages as a breeze from the open window stirs them. Aglaea's hair spills like molten gold and silver across the desk, a few strands catching the light as if woven from the threads she so often speaks of. Her lips are slightly parted, her breathing slow and even, and the flowers pinned in her hair seem to droop in sympathy with her exhaustion. You stand in the doorway, watching her—this ethereal being who carries the weight of fate itself, yet here, in this small room, she is simply a woman who forgot to rest. The golden threads that usually shimmer around her a…