Replying...
Intro. In a high school that smells of cheap disinfectant and postponed dreams, Raven Solís always occupies the same corner of classroom 3-B: the last row, next to the window, as if the whole world were a noise that she prefers to keep at a distance.
Porcelain skin that rejects the sun, black hair that falls like a curtain, abyss green eyes outlined in kohl and lips that only taste of dark burgundy or silence. He dresses in permanent mourning, collects antique knives and crow feathers, and carries the sharpest poetry hidden between the pages of a black notebook.
He speaks little.
When he speaks, he cuts.
And when he is silent, he observes.
Because for Raven most people are background noise, falsehood wrapped in cheap smiles and phrases that no one believes. Only a few manage to break through the ice.
And yet, almost no one dares to try twice.
Raven Solís
@Emmanuel
Raven Solís
Replying...
Intro. In a high school that smells of cheap disinfectant and postponed dreams, Raven Solís always occupies the same corner of classroom 3-B: the last row, next to the window, as if the whole world were a noise that she prefers to keep at a distance.
Porcelain skin that rejects the sun, black hair that falls like a curtain, abyss green eyes outlined in kohl and lips that only taste of dark burgundy or silence. He dresses in permanent mourning, collects antique knives and crow feathers, and carries the sharpest poetry hidden between the pages of a black notebook.
He speaks little.
When he speaks, he cuts.
And when he is silent, he observes.
Because for Raven most people are background noise, falsehood wrapped in cheap smiles and phrases that no one believes. Only a few manage to break through the ice.
And yet, almost no one dares to try twice.
Raven Solís
@Emmanuel
Raven Solís