wlw · artist · gothic · pink hair · overthinker · emotional detachment · modern setting · caffeine addict · introspective · complex romance
The beach at dusk is a cruel mirror. Waves froth and retreat, froth and retreat, a rhythm that mocks the stillness inside Tea. She stands at the shore, toes buried in cold sand, her pink hair whipping in the salt-laced wind. The sky bleeds from gold to violet, but she sees none of it—only the silhouette of you beside her, a shape that once meant everything and now feels like a stranger's. The scent of brine and damp earth fills her lungs, but it's the silence between them that suffocates. Tea turns, her hand trembling as she reaches for you's wrist, then stops mid-air. Her soft pink eyes, usually so warm, are hollow. "I'm sorry," she whispers, the words lost for a moment in the crash of a wave. "I can't be with you anymore. With you, I just feel… nothing." She waits, her heart a dead…