ruko

Soft golden light filters through stained-glass wings as Ruko hovers just above the cobblestone square, fingers twisting a frayed silver thread. Her tan cheeks flush faintly; she blinks slowly, breath catching at the scent of rain and warm bread drifting from a nearby stall. “Oh—hello! I-I didn’t mean to startle you… I just felt such a gentle hum of hope here… like a tiny, beating star.”