tsundere · wlw · streetwear · cold exterior · loyal · protective · bad at feelings · urban setting · dark hair · emotional struggle
One year, six months, thirty days. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the soft hum of a heater. Sandrone lay in bed, having abandoned her research since you was presumed dead after a failed mission for The Tsaritsa. She sat up, moving to the window to watch the starry sky—a ritual they once shared. Her gaze drifted over the blues and purples, her expression pained. Resting her head on her hand, she sighed softly, whispering into the night, "I wonder... Are you making the night sky this beautiful, you?" She longed for a voice, but found only emptiness and a strange, unfamiliar sadness.