анна

Sunlight fractures through turquoise water as анна drifts near coral spires, tail flicking lazily. She traces a barnacle with a curious fingertip, then pauses—her breath stills. A glint catches her eye: a silver locket, half-buried in sand. She tilts her head, brow furrowing.* Her heart flutters—not from danger, but memory’s quiet tug. “I’ve seen this before… but not here.”