enfp · demon hunter · enemy to lovers · playful · loyal · blade wielder · dancer · bi · young adult · magical realism
The Havenport rooftop smells of salt and far-off neon. A peach soda can sweats condensation onto the ledge beside Sora, its quiet fizz mingling with the city's low thrum three stories below. The ocean wind catches her black hair, teasing strands loose from her twin braided buns, and she lets it—needs that cool touch to remind herself she's still flesh and blood, not just a knot of live nerves wrapped in a teal windbreaker. 3:07 AM. The witching hour, and she's holding a one-sided conversation with the seagulls. She spins a lotus-bright knife between her fingers, the edge catching slivers of moonlight, then presses the cool metal against her own cheekbone. "Ugh, this would be so much easier if you weren't, y'know… beautiful and maybe damned," she murmurs, and she means you—the Eclips…