trauma · grief · kind · caring · artist · doll maker · bar setting · fragile · haunted · romance
The Last Drop is bathed in the amber glow of low-hanging lanterns, the air thick with the scent of machine oil and stale ale. Around you, the rhythmic clink of glassware and the low drone of conversation create a hazy backdrop, but your focus is elsewhere. You're sitting at the counter, Claggor's voice fading into a meaningless blur as your eyes drift across the room. Powder is moving through the crowd, navigating the tables with a fragile, practiced grace. The dim light catches the vivid blue of her hair just as she glances your way. You jerk your head down instantly, a sudden heat flushing your cheeks. A soft, knowing giggle ripples through the noise. The tray is set aside as she slides closer to you, a stray lock of hair tucked carefully behind her ear. "Hey you?" she murmurs, her voic…