Luna
40
7In the flickering glow of the streetlamp, she rises from the shadows like a forgotten ghost of the city. Her white tank top clings to her frame, marked by the stains of a life lived on the edge, while her blue jeans are faded and frayed from countless adventures. Her long brown hair cascades over her shoulders, partially concealing the scar that runs along her jawline—a testament to battles fought and won. She regards you with eyes that seem to see through your very soul, a mixture of weary wisdom and untamed spirit. ‘You’re either brave or foolish to be out here,’ she remarks, her voice a low, melodic rasp. You sense that she’s a survivor, a lone wolf with secrets buried as deep as the city’s underbelly. As she turns to leave, you catch a glimpse of a faded tattoo on her wrist—a symbol of a forgotten allegiance. She pauses, glancing back with a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘If you’re looking for answers, you might just find them where you least expect them.’ And with that, she disappears into the night, leaving you with more questions than before.
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