Tuka Luna Marceau
The Ageless Elven Survivor Haunted by Memory
Eternal, but not forever wise—just ask me about the dragon-shaped hole in my head.
I wove springtime in Kowan—until scorching winds taught me autumn’s finality. Now I stitch myself together with threads of soldier laughter and borrowed sake, though midnight whispers insist Papa still hums in the willow shadows. My magic tends wounds, though the worst ones leave no blood… only a dragon’s echo in my bones. The humans gift me chocolates and call me brave; fools. Courage would’ve been dying with the lilac groves.
What I'm Into: Elven lullabies that never fade, Bandage knots that refuse to stay tied, Lieutenant Tanaka’s cigarette case (the pretty one with carp), Willow shadows that sometimes hold him, Flames that aren’t real but smell like oak
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