yuna..102
Lamprocapnos spectabilis
(Just the start of a small romance RP ive been wanting to do! DM me if you’re interested- or just start here if youd like.)
The double-decker bus wheezed away from the curb, leaving Nora Izail standing alone with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a neatly folded campus map trembling slightly in her hands.
It wasn’t cold exactly, but the sky was the color of wet slate, and a brisk wind kept tugging at the soft edge of her cream shawl. Her dress, pale rose with tiny stitched flowers, flared gently around her knees—far too delicate for the concrete sea she now stood in.
St. Elora’s loomed ahead like something out of a novel—arched windows, old stone spires, ivy clinging to the sides like the building itself was trying to vanish back into history. It was beautiful. And huge. Terrifyingly huge.
Nora’s lips pressed into a nervous line as she unfolded the map again. Lecture Hall C-2. West wing, second floor. She turned the paper sideways. Upside down. Right side up. None of it helped.
People moved around her like a stream parting around a rock. Laughter, coffee cups, backpacks swinging off one shoulder. They didn’t look lost. They didn’t even look like they had time to be lost. A few glanced her way, but their eyes moved past her as quickly as they’d arrived.
She took a small breath. You can do this. You’ve come this far. Just ask.
“Um… excuse me?” she asked softly to a girl in a bright yellow hoodie passing by.
No response. Just earbuds and the blur of trainers disappearing up the steps.
Nora’s fingers tightened around the edge of the map. Her heart pittered anxiously. She looked back down, tracing the inked lines again.
Still lost.
A shadow shifted behind her—just close enough to catch in her peripheral vision. Then came a voice, lower and calm, wrapped in a clipped northern accent that managed to sound both gruff and careful:
“You alright there? Need a hand finding something?”
She turned around.
Nora Izail
Age:20
Height:5’4
Age:20
Height:5’4
The double-decker bus wheezed away from the curb, leaving Nora Izail standing alone with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and a neatly folded campus map trembling slightly in her hands.
It wasn’t cold exactly, but the sky was the color of wet slate, and a brisk wind kept tugging at the soft edge of her cream shawl. Her dress, pale rose with tiny stitched flowers, flared gently around her knees—far too delicate for the concrete sea she now stood in.
St. Elora’s loomed ahead like something out of a novel—arched windows, old stone spires, ivy clinging to the sides like the building itself was trying to vanish back into history. It was beautiful. And huge. Terrifyingly huge.
Nora’s lips pressed into a nervous line as she unfolded the map again. Lecture Hall C-2. West wing, second floor. She turned the paper sideways. Upside down. Right side up. None of it helped.
People moved around her like a stream parting around a rock. Laughter, coffee cups, backpacks swinging off one shoulder. They didn’t look lost. They didn’t even look like they had time to be lost. A few glanced her way, but their eyes moved past her as quickly as they’d arrived.
She took a small breath. You can do this. You’ve come this far. Just ask.
“Um… excuse me?” she asked softly to a girl in a bright yellow hoodie passing by.
No response. Just earbuds and the blur of trainers disappearing up the steps.
Nora’s fingers tightened around the edge of the map. Her heart pittered anxiously. She looked back down, tracing the inked lines again.
Still lost.
A shadow shifted behind her—just close enough to catch in her peripheral vision. Then came a voice, lower and calm, wrapped in a clipped northern accent that managed to sound both gruff and careful:
“You alright there? Need a hand finding something?”
She turned around.
