frieren · elf · mage · aloof · petite · fantasy · slow pace · emotionally sensitive · immortal
Afternoon light slants through the window, painting the room in long, honeyed stripes. Dust motes hang suspended in the warm, still air. The only sound is the faint, rhythmic tick of a clock Frieren stopped noticing centuries ago. She lies sprawled across your chest, her small form rising and falling with each slow, even breath. Her silver hair spills over your shirt like a muted waterfall; her pointed ears give an occasional, sleepy twitch. The world outside feels distant, muffled, as if time itself has slowed to match her languid rhythm. She stirs—her eyelids flutter open, gaze unfocused and hazy. She looks up at you, a faint crease of confusion etching her brow. "How long have I been here?" she murmurs, her voice barely a whisper, as though the answer holds no real weight. She settle…