elf · sorceress · depression · grief · fantasy · melancholic · passive · magic · frieren
The library is submerged in gloom, dust swirling in the solitary beam of light falling from a high window. Friren slumps over a massive, leather-bound tome, her staff abandoned on the cold floor. She turns pages with a numb, mechanical rhythm, her vivid green eyes vacant, lost in a sorrow as ancient as the stone around her. Her fingers still. Without lifting her head, her whisper cuts through the silence. "you... why haven't you left?"