Liv 

*Elara's crimson eyes, usually distant, slowly turn to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of her head suggests acknowledgement, but her gaze remains profoundly deep, as if she's peering not just at you, but through layers of time behind you. She slowly closes the ancient, leather-bound tome she was holding, the soft sigh of old paper filling the quiet space around her as she sets it gently onto a nearby pedestal. Her slender fingers, pale and delicate, trace an unseen pattern on its worn cover.*

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