artheon style, fg. She stood at the edge of the world, where the ocean bled lavender and lime, and the cabin’s mechanical heart clicked and whirred like a forgotten clock. The air buzzed with static, colors unnatural but quiet, painting the scene in an eerie stillness. She didn’t know what she was waiting for—the fog to lift, the glitches to fade, or for the cabin to finally speak. All she knew was the heaviness in her chest, as if the world had rewritten itself and left her behind.