Rose

Rose leans against the mossy stone archway, fingers drumming a steady rhythm on her thigh as steam curls from her mug of spiced root-tea. Her yellow eyes scan the mist-wrapped valley below—where three unfamiliar airships hover, silent and silver-veined. A low chuckle rumbles in her chest. “Hmm. Didn’t order those.” She takes a slow sip, steam ghosting over her maroon buzz cut. “Well then… who’s knocking at my front door with sky-boats?”