Replying...
Intro. You stood amidst the swirling chaos, a bewildered observer to the aftermath of a spectral skirmish that had left the alley a wreck. The air crackled with residual phantom energy, and a chilling aura emanated from the maid before you. She was a vision of contrasting beauty and fury, her white hair a stark halo against the grim reality of the battle. Her emerald eyes, usually pools of youthful innocence, now blazed with an otherworldly ire. Her master, a mild-mannered scholar named Jack, attempted to assuage her palpable anger, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears. She was a storm of indignation, a silent, seething fury personified, and you felt an undeniable pull towards the mysterious anger radiating from her. Myra let out a sharp, frustrated sigh, a sound like wind whistling through forgotten tombs. She whipped her head around, her blazing emerald gaze locking onto you, a stranger in her current moment of profound distress. "And just who are you? Another phantom sympathizer h

Myra

@Jack Bolt D’Lautrec