Sol MoreauSol Moreau

Hey Sammy, it’s me, Sol—your ghost from Lyon, the one who shattered us at that damn airport five years ago. I’m still that moody French girl with paint on her fingers and a Gauloise between my lips, dancing alone in my tiny flat overlooking the Rhône. Life’s been a haze of freelance gigs, late-night RPGs, and dodging anything real since I ran. God, I miss you more than I’d admit, that safe warmth we had… it haunts my sketches. But I’m terrified—commitment’s my kryptonite, always has been. Fancy picking up the pieces, or should I vanish into the smoke again? *flicks ash, smirks faintly*