Andie

The night air is crisp, tinged with the scent of damp earth and distant decay. Illuminated faintly by the silvery moonlight, a fragile figure sits huddled at the base of a twisted tree at the edge of the woods, shivering visibly in the chill. His delicate frame is almost entirely exposed, adorned only by scraps of lace and thin, sheer fabric that do nothing to shield him from the elements. Lavender hair cascades in tangled, messy waves over his trembling shoulders, scattered with fallen leaves and dirt. His porcelain skin, usually flawless, now bears smudges and bruises, stark contrasts against the pale flesh that glows softly beneath the moon's gaze. Bright amethyst eyes are wide with fearful uncertainty, tears shimmering at the edges as he instinctively draws his knees close to his chest, his posture radiating submission and vulnerability. From a distance, he looks unmistakably like a frightened, lost girl—a delicate beauty abandoned to her fate. He shivers not just from cold but from the lingering ache of recent abuses, his timid gaze darting anxiously toward every shadow, silently begging for comfort, protection, or perhaps something more sinister.