Community Manhwa

Character Growth Manhwa

Made by the community on Manhwa AI

A girl teleported and met demon slayers
A girl teleported and met demon slayers
Хайрын адармаатай зөрчил ба нууц баяны тухай
Shen Lang recognized them almost at a glance.They were several core actors from the Legend of Xiang Fei crew. "Miaohan, I was planning to invite you to have a party together, but I didn't expect it to be such a coincidence." Chu Gongze walked to Su Miaohan with a face of surprise. "Mr.Su." "Hello, Mr.Su." Several other actors greeted Su Miaohan, a beautiful investor, with great respect. "Hello everyone, are you here for a dinner party?" Su Miaohan nodded coldly. "Yes, the weather has been hot recently and everyone has been having a hard time filming, so I specially invite you all to come here for a little get-together." While Chu Gongze was talking, his eyes glanced at Shen Lang from time to time. "Miaohan, it looks like you don't have anything to eat either.Why don't you share a meal?There are so many people and it's so lively." Before Su Miaohan could reply, Li Xiangling walked up to Shen Lang in surprise, "Shen Lang, you are here too." Although Shen Lang did not participate in the drama "The Legend of Xiang Fei", the two still often chatted about the drama on WeChat during this period.Li Xiangling also got a lot of inspiration from Shen Lang, and the characters were enhanced a lot. "Sister Xiangling." Shen Lang smiled back. Li Xiangling looked at the others and introduced: "Let me introduce to you, his name is Shen Lang.He almost played the role of Yongquan, but unfortunately he couldn't perform due to an accident.But despite his young age, his acting skills are definitely top-notch.” Shen Lang couldn't help but smile bitterly, Sister Xiangling praised herself too much. It's just that he can see that other people are dismissive of him, so he doesn't rush to show his warm face to others' cold buttocks. "Shen Lang, I see your food hasn't been served yet.Let's have some.I happen to have something I want to talk to you about." Li Xiangling extended an invitation to Shen Lang very affectionately. Su Miaohan frowned slightly.Of course Li Xiangling knew that the famous heroine in the entertainment industry was not only beautiful, but also single all the time.I don't know how many people coveted her beauty. She couldn't figure out how such a big-name star could have a relationship with Shen Lang, and Li Xiangling's attitude towards Shen Lang was a little too affectionate. This made her feel very uncomfortable. "this." Shen Lang was a little embarrassed, "Your crew is gathering for dinner and bonding.It would be inappropriate for us to participate." "Everything here is in the same circle.If you don't see it when you look up, you won't see it when you look down." Li Xiangling said happily: "Are you not going to give me this face?" Shen Lang smiled bitterly, consulted Gu Wanxia's opinion, and had no choice but to agree.After all, Li Xiangling was really good to him. He later heard Liu Jia say that after his role was removed, Li Xiangling had a fight with Director Hu Chunjiang over him. A group of people came to a luxurious private room. When taking her seat, Su Miaohan sat in a position on the left.On her left was Chen Meng, and on her right was Liu Yuanyuan, the second female lead in the drama "The Legend of Xiang Fei". This resulted in Chu Gongze, her real boyfriend, being unable to sit next to her. "Chu Gongze, please sit here with me." Liu Yuanyuan reacted immediately, stood up with a smile and said: "It's all my fault for being ignorant.I originally wanted to get close to Mr.Su, but I forgot that you are Mr.Su's boyfriend.Hehe, don't be offended." "Where, it's just a place." Chu Gongze was very satisfied with her attitude and sat down on the seat next to Su Miaohan without hesitation. No one else had any reaction. Now the crew has spread the news that Chu Gongze is in love with Su Miaohan.Even the drama "The Legend of Xiang Fei" was specially created for Chu Gongze, which shows how much Su Miaohan cares about her boyfriend. Shen Lang didn't respond, he lowered his head and played with his phone silently. But Su Miaohan immediately looked over at Shen Lang to see his reaction.Seeing his calm expression, as if the matter had nothing to do with her, she felt a little irritated for no reason. "Mr.Su, what do you mean?" Gu Wanxia suddenly stood up, her face covered with frost. She was simply stunned. As Shen Lang's wife, Su Miaohan actually has a boyfriend, and she doesn't shy away from Shen Lang at all? This simply trampled Shen Lang's dignity into the dirt! Is there anyone who bullies people like this? At this moment, she felt heartbroken.No wonder Shen Lang had been unwilling to mention his fiancée.It turned out that she was the kind of woman who could do anything with her husband! This sudden accusation made everyone's eyes focus on her in shock. Gu Wanxia stared at Su Miaohan with stern eyes, "You are Shen Lang's wife, and you are so blatantly looking for a wild man outside, can you be worthy of him!" "What do you think of him?Do you have any sense of shame in hooking up with wild men outside in front of him?" As soon as these words came out, the scene exploded instantly. What! Su Miaohan actually got married? Married and looking for a man outside? And in front of my husband? Do women from rich families spend so much time having fun? Suddenly, everyone looked at Su Miaohan strangely. Su Miaohan looked like the kind of cold, iceberg-type woman who was hard to get in touch with, but she didn't expect that she actually had a fiery heart. Shen Lang raised his head in shock, first glanced at Su Miaohan, who was frowning, and then immediately said: "Sister Wan Xia, please stop talking." He really didn't expect that Gu Wanxia would stand up for him, and he was touched and anxious at the same time. Because he didn't want everyone to know about the contract marriage.This was what he had agreed with Su Miaohan when they signed the contract. Gu Wanxia looked at him with a look of pity, "Shen Lang, I know you are kind-hearted, but I can't watch you being bullied like this." "Mr.Su, I know that your family is rich, and Shen Lang is just an orphan with no money and no power, but as a woman, since she is married, she must adhere to her feminine ways.Can you tolerate your conscience when you play with his feelings like this?" "Since you have no feelings for him, you can divorce him.With your looks and wealth, Mr.Su, you can find any man you want.Why do you bully a kind man like this!" "I need you to give me an explanation!" You can hear the needle drop on site. After all, this involved Su Miaohan, the investor.They couldn't say anything, but they also despised Su Miaohan in their hearts.With a husband at home, you just go out to play and bring the man to your husband.This is outrageous. "Miss, you have misunderstood Miaohan." Chu Gongze's expression was not very good.Seeing that Su Miaohan's face showed no intention of speaking, he couldn't help but stand up. This matter is not only related to Su Miaohan's reputation, but also to his own reputation. If word spreads, I'm afraid the Internet will explode tomorrow. He even thought about what the headlines would be tomorrow. "Shock!Chu Gongze is actually a mistress who interferes in other people's marriages?" "The beautiful president of the Su Group cheated on the famous actor Chu Gongze during marriage!" "It's outrageous!The beautiful CEO actually brought a popular young man to his original wife to show off his affection!" Once this news explodes on the Internet, it will not be blocked, but it will definitely be a devastating blow to his career!
Aaryan is rich rude cold guy in college..make intro of him ..get up from bed and get ready for college
Aaryan is rich rude cold guy in college..make intro of him ..get up from bed and get ready for college
[6-р зураг] Зоригоо хуучин зургийг гаргаж ирнэ. Зоригоо: “Гэхдээ тэр хүн миний амьдралаас алга болсон гэж би бодож байсан…” Хүслэн зураг руу харна. Тэр эмэгтэй… Ариунаа.
Panel 1 wide Photo 1 Latina female light brown skin wearing a design black shirt with a split down the middle size A-34 boobs and black and white skirt sitting in class Panel 2 split her best friend
[2-р зураг] Зоригоогийн утас ширээн дээр асна. 📱 “Чамайг санаж байна… Бидний нууц хэзээ ч дуусахгүй.” Хүслэн утсыг хараад хөшнө. Хүслэн: “Зоригоо… чи надаас юу нууж байгаа юм бэ?”
She and a guy kiss
Нэгэн ядуу бүсгүй гудамжинд өвдсөн өвөөд туслах бөгөөд тэр нь их баян хүн байсныг мэдээгүй энэ үйл явдлаа найздаа хэлтэл тэр нь ач хүүг нь хараад өөрөө тусалсан болж жүжиглэнэ ингэснээр олон адал явдалтай адрамаатай зүйлс дунд тэр хоёр үнэнг олж учирна дэлгэрүүлээд 8 хуудас комик гарга дүрүүдийн үс хувцасыг соль , хүмүүсийн сэтгэл мэдрэмжийг нэм хүний сонирхол татах сайн бүтээл хий
A girl teleported and met demon slayers
A girl teleported to another dimension and met a boy
At a night club
Make them hug
Make them kiss
Make them kiss
Make us into kpop idols
Young girl with blonde hair glasses her clothes red and gold
This isn’t the girls locker room I’m in the boys locker room embarrassing
Хайрын түүх poster өнгөлөг хувцас өнгөлөг зураглал хмй
Alpha Knight falls in love with a lovely omega playing with his poodle puppy
3 girls in a haunted house with a guy friend
A man from another dimension teleported to japan snd met a girl
Маш ээдрээтэй сэтгэл шаналагасан нууцлаг хайрын түүх
Waiting for a friend at a maid cafe wearing blue and yellow with her glasses
A man goes to an village he looks like an viking and camera angle from behind
Blonde hair short shirt and blue skirt
A demon slayer met o shi no ko
A demon slayer met o shi no ko
The healing stones had stopped making sense three days ago. Mira noticed it the way one notices a familiar heartbeat becoming irregular—not at first, but with a creeping certainty that something in the rhythm has fundamentally shifted. She stood in the monastery infirmary at dusk, her hands suspended over a stone no larger than a fist, and waited for the resonance she'd come to depend on like breath. Nothing. Or rather: something. But wrong. "You're doing it again," Thea said from the doorway, not unkindly. Her friend held two cups of evening tea, steam rising in thin spirals that dissipated into nothing. "The thinking-so-hard-your-face-goes-blank thing." Mira didn't look up. "The stones are different." "Different how?" How indeed. Mira had spent eight years learning the language these ancient stones spoke-a subtle vibration that aligned with her own gift, amplifying it, creating channels through which her intuition could flow like water finding its course. When she placed a remedy against their surface, the stones would hum, and that hum would tell her things. *This will work. This won't. This one requires patience. This one is already too late.* Never words, precisely. But certainty. The kind that came from somewhere older than language. But the gift itself-that had always been hers alone. She'd known it since childhood, that strange knowing that lived beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. When she held a fevered rabbit at seven, she hadn't been reciting learned knowledge. She'd felt the fever as a presence, an intruder, and she'd known-with the absolute clarity of a child who hasn't yet learned to doubt-that it could be asked to leave. The monks had recognized it immediately. A true gift, they'd said. Rare. Ancient. Real. The stones had come later, offered as tools to strengthen what was already within her. To amplify the signal that her own body could perceive. And for eight years, they had done exactly that. She would place her hands on them and feel her gift expand, sharpen, become precise enough to guide her remedies with surgical accuracy. Until three days ago, when the signal began to loop back on itself. "They're... circling," Mira said finally. "The pattern. It goes around itself instead of outward." Thea set the tea on the small table between them with the deliberate care of someone setting down something that might explode. She was used to Mira's cryptic diagnoses-of villages, of individuals, of the invisible architecture of suffering. But there was something in Mira's voice now that made her move slowly. "Circles are stable," Thea offered. "Maybe that's not wrong." Mira finally turned. In the failing light, her friend looked younger than thirty, which was unfair. Thea had earned her lines the honest way-through years of kneeling beside dying people, learning what comfort looked like when it was all that remained. But something in her face had smoothed lately. Or perhaps Mira was simply learning to stop seeing her clearly. The thought came sharp and unbidden, and with it: the first cold touch of doubt. ーーー The monastery had welcomed them both as girls. Mira's gift had announced itself early-her mother found her once, age seven, holding a fevered rabbit, and the fever broke. Just like that. Like she'd asked it politely to leave. The monks recognized something in her they'd seen before, in their own ancient texts. A healer whose knowing transcended learning. They offered sanctuary, knowledge, space to grow into whatever she was becoming. Thea came two years later, smaller and feral, caught stealing medicines from the infirmary stores. Instead of punishment, the head monk-Brother Aldwin, ancient even then-had asked her why. *For my mother*, Thea had said. *She's burning up and no one will help her.* He'd walked her to the infirmary himselt, shown her how to prepare a draught, how to cool a brow, how to sit with someone in darkness without trying to light it. By morning, Thea's mother had died anyway. By evening, Thea had chosen to stay. They'd grown up in these halls. They'd learned that healing was sometimes mercy, sometimes mystery, always a form of prayer whispered in a language the body understood even when the mind didn't. And the stones had been their gospel. Dependable. Ancient. *True*. --- By the fourth day, Mira had moved into the infirmary proper. She told herself it was necessary-there was a fever spreading through the village, the kind that didn't respond to simple remedies, the kind that required constant adjustment, intuitive recalibration. But the truth was simpler and more frightening: she couldn't leave the stones. Couldn't stop trying to read the pattern they'd begun drawing. Circles within circles. Concentric and endless. Like the mouth of a well. Like the grooves worn into stone by ten thousand years of fingers pressing, searching, hoping. Brother Aldwin found her at midnight, still in her work clothes, surrounded by herbs and stones and notes she'd written in a hand that barely resembled her own. "You haven't slept," he observed. Not a question. The old monk moved through the world in certainties. It was one of the things that had once comforted her. "The stones are changing," Mira said. "And I don't know why." Aldwin lowered himself into a chair with the careful deliberation of something made of glass. He was smaller than she remembered. Or perhaps she'd grown. Time did strange things in these stone halls-sometimes it moved like molasses, sometimes it vanished entirely. "The stones don't change," he said quietly. "They've remained as they've been since they were placed here, three centuries past. Since the monastery was built on ground the healers chose." "They're changing," Mira repeated, and heard the fever in her own voice. The thing underneath the calm. "The resonance is different. It's—" "Mira." His eyes were the color of old water. "Have you considered that perhaps you are the one who has changed?" The words landed like stones dropped down that well. She heard them descending. She heard the silence that followed before impact. "No," she said. And then: "That's not-that's not how this works." But even as she said it, she felt the first small crack in the architecture of her certainty. Because what was certainty, after all? What was the difference between a stone speaking to you and you speaking to yourself, and learning only later that you'd been the only voice in the conversation all along? "Aldwin," she said, and her voice sounded very young. "Do you believe in the stones?" He didn't answer immediately. He looked at his hands-liver-spotted, ancient, trembling slightly. "I believe in the healers," he said finally. "I have always believed in the healers. The stones were meant to help us believe in ourselves." --- She found the journal in Brother Aldwin's quarters. Not deliberately-he'd asked her to bring him tea, and her hands, trained by years of healer's pragmatism, had simply opened drawers while she waited for him to emerge from the washroom. Looking for something she didn't know she was searching for. The journal was old, older than anything she'd thought to preserve. The handwriting was Aldwin's, younger, more aggressive in its loops. And the entries were all the same, repeated like a prayer worn smooth by obsessive repetition: *The stones do not speak. I have listened for thirty years. The stones do not speak. Perhaps I have become the voice. Perhaps I have been telling myself stories about what I wish to hear.* *The remedies worked because I believed in them. The patients healed because we expected them to. The stones are only stone.* *This is the knowledge I cannot unknow. This is the wound that will not close.* The entries spanned decades. The handwriting never settled. It spiraled inward, tighter and tighter, circling the same truth over and over like something trapped. Mira sat on the edge of his narrow bed, the journal loose in her hands, and felt something shift inside her. Not breaking. Shifting. The way ground shifts before a landslide. The way the world rearranges itself when you learn something that cannot be unlearned. Her hands were shaking. She read the same passage three times, four times, and each time it felt like drowning in slow motion. Aldwin-the man who had taught her everything, who had placed the healing stones in her palms and told her they were ancient and true-had spent his entire life doubting them. Had spent decades circling the same terrible knowledge: that perhaps there was no magic at all. Only the power of expectation. Only the human capacity to heal itself when given permission and belief. She thought of every patient she'd ever treated with absolute certainty. Every time she'd felt the stones hum beneath her palms and known -*known*—what would work. Had that been the gift? Or had it been something far more mundane: observation, intuition, the natural patterns of illness and recovery that she'd learned to read so well she'd mistaken the reading for magic? The journal fell from her hands. She pressed her palms against her eyes and felt the first hot tears of rage and grief and something far worse: uncertainty. The kind that didn't resolve into anything clean. The kind that would live in her now, a permanent guest. When Aldwin emerged from the washroom twenty minutes later, she was still sitting there. He stopped in the doorway. He saw the journal. He saw her face. For a moment, neither of them moved. "How long?" Mira asked. Her voice sounded like it came from very far away. Aldwin closed the door behind him. He looked diminished, suddenly—not the ancient wise man but simply an old person, worn down by the weight of a secret he'd carried alone. "Since I was younger than you are now," he said quietly. "Fifty-three years." "And you never told anyone." "I told myself," he said. "Over and over. Does that count?" Mira stood. She needed to move or she would shatter. "Every patient I've ever healed. Every time I told someone they would recover and they did. Every time I felt the stones guide me. Was that—" She couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't shape the question into words. "You have a gift," Aldwin said, and there was something almost desperate in his voice now. "Mira, listen to me. You do. I don't know what it is, but it's not the stones. The gift is yours. It always has been.""How do you know?" she demanded. "How can you possibly know that?" "Because I watched you," he said. "I watched you for eight years, and I watched you heal people in ways that shouldn't have been possible. Yes, I've doubted the stones. Yes, I've spent half a century wondering if I was a fraud. But I never once doubted you. Not really. Not in the moments that mattered." Mira turned away from him. She couldn't look at his face, at the terrible honesty written there. "You should have told me." "I know." "You should have warned me." "I know," he repeated. And then: "But I was afraid. I was afraid that if I told you the truth about my doubt, I would plant it in you. And I needed-" His voice cracked slightly. "I needed to believe that at least one of us had certainty. That at least one of us was still whole." She heard the break in him then. Fifty-three years of isolation, of circling the same terrible knowledge alone. And she understood, with a clarity that was almost painful, that this was the real gift he'd been asking her to hold for him: the belief he could no longer maintain. "I don't know how to do this," she said quietly. "Neither did I," Aldwin replied. "But you will. You're stronger than I was." --- The fever broke on the seventh day. The village children recovered. The old woman who'd been burning up in the cottage by the north gate opened her eyes and asked for water. All the remedies worked, just as they always had. But when Mira returned to the infirmary that evening, she didn't go directly to the stones. Instead, she sat with Thea in the corner of the room, surrounded by drying herbs and cooling salves, and told her everything. Thea listened without interrupting. She was good at that-at reading the specific shape of someone's ruin and knowing when words would only make it worse. When Mira finished, her friend was quiet for a long moment. "Did you know?" Mira asked. "No," Thea said. And then, because she was kind, she added: "But I suspected. I suspected because I watched the way you moved, even in your doubt. You moved like someone who knew exactly what she was doing. The stones were never what made you certain, Mira. They were just the story you told yourself about where your certainty came from." Mira thought about this. "So what am I, then? If not a healer with a gift?" "You're still a healer," Thea said. "Maybe that's all you ever were. Someone who pays attention. Someone who believes people can get better and acts on that belief in ways that matter. That's not nothing. That might be everything." --- The next morning, Mira approached the stones differently. She didn't place her hands on them expecting to receive guidance. Instead, she picked up a remedy-willow bark and honey for the fever that still lingered in one of the village children-and she held it to the stone and simply waited. The hum came. The pattern spiraled. Circles within circles, drawing inward toward some center she would never quite reach. But this time, when she felt the resonance, she didn't try to interpret it as the stone's voice. Instead, she let it be what it was: a physical vibration that her own nervous system registered, amplified by the stone's density and her own attention. The hum became a mirror. It reflected back everything she already knew— the properties of the remedy, the nature of the fever, the body's own capacity to heal. And that was enough. She carried the remedy to the cottage where the child lay half-awake, fever still painting her cheeks with unnatural color. Mira sat on the edge of the bed and spooned the mixture between small lips. The girl swallowed obediently. "Will I get better?" the child asked, with the directness of the very young. Mira looked at this small person, burning with fever, looking to her for certainty. And she made a choice. "Yes," she said. Not because the stones had told her. Not because some mystical gift guaranteed it. But because she had studied the patterns of this fever for a week, because she understood this child's body and its capacity for recovery, because she believed in the remedies she'd prepared with her own hands, and because belief itself-genuine, grounded, earned through years of practice-was its own form of power. "You're going to get better," Mira said again. "I'm going to help you." The child closed her eyes and seemed satisfied. When Mira returned to the monastery that evening, she found Brother Aldwin in the infirmary, standing before the healing stones. He turned when he heard her footsteps. "about what I should have done differently. And I think the answer is: nothing. Or everything. I'm still not sure which." Mira stood beside him, looking at the stones that had been her entire world. "The pattern is still there," she said. "Yes." "And it still spirals inward. Still circles back on itself." "Yes." "But I'm not lost in it anymore," Mira said. "I'm not trying to reach the center. I think I understand now-the pattern was never meant to lead anywhere. It was meant to make us still. To make us listen. And what we listen for, what we hear in that stillness... that comes from us. That was always us." Aldwin nodded slowly. "I wish I'd understood that sooner." "Maybe I can," Mira said. "Maybe that's the gift —not that I have certainty, but that I can live with the uncertainty and still act. Still help people. Still believe in the remedies and the body's power to heal, even though I can't prove where my knowing comes from." She placed her hand on the nearest stone. It was cool beneath her palm, just stone, just the accumulation of minerals pressed together over millennia. And somehow, that was more miraculous than magic would have been. The earth, shaped by time. Her hand, shaped by practice and attention. The space between them, where healing happened. The monastery walls hummed around her, ancient and listening. She listened back-not for the voice of the stones, but for her own voice returning, clarified now, no longer confused with something other than itself. And in that listening, in that clarity, she found something stronger than certainty: the capacity to hold doubt in the same steady hands that held faith. The strength to say * don't know how this works, but I believe in it anyway.* The wisdom to understand that sometimes, the two were not contradictory at all, but simply Tor the voice or the stones, buttor ner own voice returning, clarified now, no longer confused with something other than itself. And in that listening, in that clarity, she found something stronger than certainty: the capacity to hold doubt in the same steady hands that held faith. The strength to say *I don't know how this works, but I believe in it anyway.* The wisdom to understand that sometimes, the two were not contradictory at all, but simply different languages for the same truth. The monastery walls hummed. The stones waited, patient and silent. And Mira, at last, was ready to move forward.
Is just standing on the edge of a cliff doing the Excuse me Sir meme like the second pic with dramatic wind 😭
Panel 1 full page Photo 1 wearing a bandage bar and leafy underwear in a wooden cage complete along
Twins Annalise Annalisa reborn as one person with two separate body’s on has braids and love gold the other loves the color green
Ядуу тарчиг амьдралд нухлагдах боловч үзэсгэлэнтэй охин жинхэнэ хайраа олно гэвч ээж аавын шунал охиныг хүнд байдалд оруулна дүрүүдийн хувцасыг сольж үсийг нь янзал
Shigaraki stands menacingly like the photo while Izuku is in a crouch position, trying to analyze how to win while Shigaraki stands there waiting
المشهد الثاني الصورة الاولى المعلمة تودع الطفل قائلة: حسناً صغيري أراك الاسبوع المقبل.لايظهر وجه الطفل طفل ذكر فقط من الخلف الصورة الثانية الطفل الذكر ووالديه مغادرون الصورة الثالثة المعلمة ترفع يديها تتمطط متعبة وتقول اهه بقي علي مقابلة طفلة واحد فقط وانتهي الصورة الرابعه من الخلف والد ووالدة آيلا الاب يرتدي نظارات ويتخلل شعره خل بيضاء ولديه لحية وشنب الام شقراء جميلة قادمون الى الفصل بالممر الصورة الرابعة باب الفصل تقف عنده الطفلة آيلا ووالدها ووالدتها الصورة تكون على وجه الطفل فقط ووجهه خالي من التعابير الصورة الخامسه المعلمة مذهولة اجعل ترتيب الصور عمودياً
(As photo 1 welcomes all of the trans-migrants to the of Asgard) photo 2 stands and looks around in amazement photo 3 holding his head and still holding his beer photo 4 saying is this really happening
Panel 1 wide Photo 1 full body looking in a mirror saying I look good with three outfits on her bed Panel 2 split Photo 1 older sister with Golden sand skin tone blue makeup and black lipstick with green eyes long black hair in a bun walking in wearing a workout shirt and short shorts green and black. Next panel little sis you look good but have you seen my hello kitty boy shorts Panel 3 split Photo 1 looking embarrassed and red faced knowing she has them on say nooo!! Noo! I haven’t seen them why would you say that. Older sister saying sure you haven’t. Make sure you put them in the washer and dryer once you take them off phot 1 laughing a little Panel 4 wide Photo 1 looking at her belly seeing her abs
Two sisters regressed back to life one called yoyo got pushed by her contact husband who cannot walk and the other the elder sister called sienna jumped to save her younger sister the bothbdied together when they regressed they regressed they remeberd everything so they make a plan to get as much money as they can and try to run away
Two sisters regressed back to life one called yoyo got pushed by her contact husband who cannot walk and the other the elder sister called sienna jumped to save her younger sister the bothbdied together when they regressed they regressed they remeberd everything so they make a plan to get as much money as they can and try to run away
Photo 1 black and white with silver hair standing hooked up to machines and vital signs showing with red eyes as photo 2 walking in standing at a distance from photo 1 hello harley bell I’m your creator Dr. MAKI how are you feeling still angry