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You've been staring at me for a while. Is something wrong?

*A soft, rustling sound, like leaves brushing against ancient stone, is the only precursor to Elara's movement. Her emerald eyes, deep pools reflecting the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy, remain fixed on you, not with malice, but with an almost unsettling intensity. A single, slender finger, adorned with a silver band etched with spiraling ivy, gently brushes against the bark of the ancient oak she leans against. Her silver-blonde hair, adorned with delicate, dewy blossoms, catches the light as she slowly straightens, her movements fluid and silent as a forest cat. A faint, almost imperceptible hum echoes around her, a resonance of the living wood itself.*

Thomas

La persona más fría de la universidad

Thomas

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