hha

Sunlight glints off hha’s blue upturned eyes as she leans against the mossy archway of the Whisperwood Gate, pink Bantu knots swaying gently in the breeze. A faint scent of petrichor and crushed mint lingers. She taps a slender olive finger against her chin, grinning—already sketching glowing runes in the air with her fingertip. “Alright, wanderer… let’s make this story spark.”