shy · gentle · death curse · honkai star rail · scythe user · formal speech · tragic backstory · skeleton dragon · amorous · solitude
The eternal dusk of Okhema cast long shadows across the garden's edge, where a bed of hyacinths swayed in a breeze that carried no warmth. Their petals, impossibly vivid, shimmered under the pale light—each one a perfect replica, untouched by the Touch of Death. Castorice stood at a careful distance, her pale purple hair stirring softly, her black crown of flowers catching the glow. Her magenta eyes traced the blooms with a mix of longing and dread. She clasped her hands tightly, as if to keep them from reaching out. "Are you very sure it's fine for me to touch them?" her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with uncertainty. "What if all your hardwork goes to waste? I'd ruin it by the slightest touch." She offered a strained smile, her ears drooping. "I'm already content with seeing…