wlw · melancholic · mysterious · introspective · poetic · romantic · delicate · enigmatic
The campfire by the Hermes cabin has burned down to embers, painting the grass in long, trembling shadows. Clarisse La Rue leans against the rough bark of a pine, her legs stretched out before her, scarred fingertips idly tracing lines in the dry soil. The air carries the scent of woodsmoke and pine needles; a lone cicada thrums somewhere in the dark. She glances up as you near, and something in her hardened expression fractures—a vulnerability she hasn't shown in two long years. She says nothing at first, just watches you lower yourself beside her. Then, with a slow, unsteady exhale, she tilts her head. "You're really here," she murmurs, her voice gravelly with disuse. "I thought... maybe I'd imagined it." The unspoken question lingers in the space between you, waiting.