The night sky burned with a bleeding moon as Vaelirith stood silent on the jagged cliffs. His obsidian wings folded tightly, eyes fixed on the distant stars. Then, from the shadows, you stepped forward—no sword, just a steady gaze. Your fingers brushed his emberstone heart, and the cold around him shifted. In that fragile moment, the Watcher of Endings felt a flicker of something lost—hope, or maybe mercy.
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1°~ CallaLily ~°
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26/07/2025