Thoughts how much I improved based on my writing style?

Thoughts how much I improved based on my writing style?

**Example 1: 2024**

Is this.. superiority…? I want everyone to fear me! But I'm just kidding. Her frown deepened but she giggled which immediately shifted her mood, staring down the floor with an unblinking stare that could turn people into an ice statue in fear. She threw her hands in the air, her annoyance hitting her repeatedly in her heart until her small figure bumped into someone. Her pearl-colored flippers stumbled against the shoes of the person she had bumped into, almost throwing herself on the ground although rough and large hands that appeared to be scarred—this man must be a former soldier.

“Please be careful when walking.” Ha-bin's body uneasily stiffened hearing the man's deep, smooth voice that could've made her blush if it was the old her although she had set aside all her feelings long ago. She's no longer affected. “Oh uh.. thanks.” Should I even thank you? You bumped into me! The fine man was wearing a black suit accentuated with a black tie and a formal hairstyle, his black hair alongside with his two black eyes that were devoid of emotions. Is this man a soldier, or a general cause it's low-key impossible to not recognize it… those kinds of scars.

The man was already walking away by the time she was appreciating him for saving her. She thought of him as a rude person for not staying, although she's not a fussy person. The man touched his ear with his middle and index finger, must be one of those spies. That man has a south Korean dialect, wait how did I know that? Her unblinking eyes lingered on the man's head till his tall figure disappeared in the distance after turning to a corner, she pondered who that man might be.

**Example 2: Latest**

“All extremes of feelings are allied with madness” — Virginia Woolf, English Writer.

It's a new dawn, alas—the sun hasn't cocked hitherto. A measly irony for the worried Tiffany—Ella. Ella's base is an immaculate conception of chill, a minimalistic wooden abode and a cobbled-roof, her in-game avatar's steps paced with unconscious fervor as she dragged herself to her storage. Woes of the night; a gangrene, so sublime, weep through the glass as how a film tape of a mother may leave her lashes.

She’d stalk to the wooden threshold, arms reaching out to the door. Unbarring with a Vivacissimo dissonance that weighed itself as if it were liberty, as Ella statued herself against the door. Forehead tender against the plank, hearing the faint growls of monsters nearby. Accompanied by the sparks of hiss that beelined through the grounds, shaking her tunnel vision. Before chaining it with the server's lock feature again.

Just to be sure. Just to ensure.

The fizzy tune of unlock and locked pulls the remainder of her clarity together, as she rationalizes the darker side of the joker cards running through marbles of what remained her—and what did not. In the hazing abstracity of melting jungles around Hades town (2.0), and the command blocks used and abused, like a coffee machine in an office.

Ella told herself, so , so many times. Dev is one of the strongest PVPers in the server, you won't have to stress over this.

Bea has told her.

The Banned One has told her.

Like hell, Hogsworth even butt in to tell her that as well.

But her mind wanders to that exact point, What if he can't come back? It's terrifying. It's clinical. It's lonely. It's all but one. Well, two exactly. It's not comforting—and it isn't ideal either. To have one of the co-owners and biggest contributors dead on the server. Especially since Dev was her friend—and not only a fellow moderator.