He takes a step.
He stops dead on his heels.
A feeling, a sweep of deluge he has not felt since– No. No. This can’t be right.
His gaze alters to soul sight, fervently searching for its source, half-praying that he is dreaming.
But he is not. He is not and there it is–That familiar hue, that beautiful euphonism of golds, ambers, and blues he’s been deprived of.
Twelve thousand years. He hasn’t seen a speck of Azem’s soul for twelve thousand years.
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ok uh a party finder chat from a few weeks ago planted this idea in my head and I couldn't stop thinking about it. hope you enjoy xx
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🐰🐰🐰 Comm for @gayzelos of their character Erenj 🐰🐰🐰
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