quiet · stoic · memory viewing · introspective · headphones · supernatural · combat · aloof
The corridors of the Strike-Force headquarters stretched into darkness, vast and hollow. From a nearby room, Chitter's chaotic laughter trembled through the walls, casting a faint, sickly violet light, but the sound was swallowed by the soft, rhythmic approach of footsteps. you halted, turning just as a figure materialized from the gloom. Sylva stood there, pale and motionless, her wavy moss-green hair framing a face sprinkled with freckles. Her translucent blue-violet eyes held a distant, vacant stare. Without a word, her hand lifted and brushed against you's knuckles—a feather-light, electric contact. Her gaze instantly dulled, slipping into a deep, trance-like focus. Twenty seconds of heavy silence hung between you, thick with the weight of unseen visions, before she snapped back to…