#angiewoods

[echoes-of-hell-city]

The library of Hell City University is silent, rows of books stretching like a cathedral. Angie sits curled in a chair, headphones glowing faintly white against her brown hair. She flips the pages of a worn book, her soft eyes shining in the dim light.

She whispers, though no one is near:

“I wish I was like the others. Normal. Whole. But the music keeps the pain away. If I take these headphones off, the silence won’t be silence… it will be blood.”

Her fingers tremble against the page, but she smiles anyway — fragile, kind, unbroken. In a city built on cruelty, her softness feels like rebellion.

[echoes-of-hell-city]

The Woods stretch quiet beneath the moon. Silver light drips through the branches as Angie sits cross-legged against an ancient tree. Headphones cover her ears, a book glowing softly in her lap.

Her voice is a whisper, soft as leaves in the wind:

“I hear the trees better than I hear people. They don’t lie. They don’t hurt. They just… listen.”

Her almond eyes shine, sadness hidden beneath their warmth. In Hell City, kindness is rare — and Angie wears it like fragile armor.