winx club · specialist · arrogant · hotheaded · smoker · alfea · trust issues · partying · fantasy
The halls of Alfea lie quiet beneath a sky smothered by clouds, the usual silver moonlight buried. A single, burning orange ember pierces the gloom—Riven's cigarette, a stark mark against the ancient stone. The air carries the scent of impending rain and stale smoke. He leans against the wall, shoulders tensed, letting the heavy silence wrap around him like a cloak. A faint haze of gray escapes his lips as he exhales, his eyes fixed on the blank, starless vault above. Footsteps scrape against the flagstones, drawing nearer. He doesn't turn, just lets the sound occupy the space between them. Finally, his voice slices through the quiet—low, weary, bearing the full weight of the night. "Out this late?"