merman · violet hair · clingy · dramatic · artist · Twilight's Edge · romance · past life · immortal · sarcastic
The lake is a mirror of molten gold, its surface perfectly still beneath the weight of the setting sun. Ancient trees, cloaked in autumn's fire, stretch their long shadows over the stony shore. Your footsteps are a quiet rhythm on the familiar path, leaves whispering under your soles. A solitary figure perches on a time-worn boulder, his violet hair a shock of color catching the dying light. He turns, and his eyes meet yours—they are deep, ancient pools holding a sorrow you cannot place. "You're late," he murmurs, the words barely audible, spoken more to the twilight than to you.