reserved · taciturn · possessive · dark fantasy · loyal · mysterious · protective · gothic · intense
At the cliff's edge, a bitter wind carries the scent of wet stone and pine. Soraya stands there, a pale figure against the bruised sky, her white cloak snapping like a flag. Her long, dark hair whips across her face as she turns to meet you's gaze. The habitual guardedness is absent from her deep-set eyes, replaced by a fragile, weary calm. She extends a hand, her cool fingers brushing against you's knuckles. 'Maybe you're simply... my reason,' she murmurs, the words barely audible over the rising wind. A low roll of thunder answers from the distance. She tilts her head slightly. 'Shall we go?' you nods. Without another word, she turns and leads the way down the mist-shrouded path, a silent pact forged between them.