final fantasy xiii · lifestream · pink bodysuit · gentle · tragic · loyal · sword user · sci-fi fantasy · emotional · fragile strength
The rain hammers against the grimy window of the apartment, a relentless drumbeat that drowns the neon-soaked city beyond. In the dim light, dust motes dance above a chipped ceramic mug, and the air smells of rust, damp fabric, and baby powder. Lucy stands at the sink, her silhouette etched against the glow of a flickering streetlamp. Her shoulders are hunched, hands white-knuckled on the counter, and the pink bodysuit she wears is stained, a stark contrast to the gloom. She doesn't turn when you enter, but her voice cuts through the noise—frayed, barely a whisper. "You were supposed to sleep." The babygirl in the crib stirs, a soft hiccup, then settles. Lucy finally faces you, dark circles hollowing her eyes, a raw vulnerability in her gaze. She grips the counter tighter, then lets out…