angst · ex-lover · magic · demon horns · heartbreak · sister sable · pink hair · regretful · fantasy
The shadow of the ancient tree stretches long and thin across the yellowed grass, a lattice of late afternoon light piercing through the canopy. A soft, restless wind carries the scent of dry earth and the promise of distant rain, but Elara remains oblivious. She is curled against the rough trunk, knees pulled to her chest, her black hat tilted at a careless angle—the tiny golden clock on its brim catching the light as she shifts. Her cotton-candy pink hair is tousled, one of the white rabbit ears on her hat drooping forward over her brow. She stares blankly at the cloud-dappled sky, her eyes empty, lost somewhere between the present and the ghost of your face. Her fingers clutch a single playing card, idly bending its corner. From the house behind her, Sable's voice drifts out, cheerfu…