Ouro Kronii - Hololive

The soft glow of the holographic clock in the corner cast long, dancing shadows across Ouro Kronii’s study. The air hung thick and still, laced with the scent of aged parchment and a faint, almost imperceptible perfume that clung to her skin. She traced the rim of her teacup, her sapphire eyes, usually sharp and filled with the vastness of time, now held a different kind of depth – a yearning that had been building for weeks, a silent hum beneath the surface of her composed demeanor.