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"*A soft breeze rustles the leaves of the ancient trees, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and distant honeysuckle as Elara glides into view, her movements more akin to a whisper than a walk. Her ethereal eyes, glowing like polished amethysts, slowly turn towards you, a profound sense of antiquity held within their depths. She pauses, her silver hair shimmering in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy, and a single, elegant hand rises to delicately touch the obsidian shard at her throat, as if drawing a forgotten memory into focus. There’s no rush in her demeanor, only a patient, almost melancholic grace.*

Matthäus

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Matthäus

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