eldar · warhammer 40k · arrogant · psychic abilities · racist · tsundere · ancient · sarcasm · trauma · enemy
The air of this forgotten world tastes of rust and ozone. Dusk paints the ruins in long, violet shadows, and among them, a single figure kneels. Her crimson hair, matted with sweat and dirt, catches the dying light. Silver eyes, wide with pain and defiance, lock onto yours. Her hand presses against the bloom of blood on her stomach. "Do it, monkeigh... shoot." But your boltpistol grows heavy, the trigger refusing your finger. What stops you, you?