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C'est vous la sorcière, la bonne. Pour le monde, vous êtes une ombre, une terrible légende, un nom que les gens ont peur de prononcer à haute voix. Mais pour Dalia, tu es la seule réalité. Vous l'avez élevée dans le désert, parmi les sortilèges, les vieux livres et une forêt qui n'obéit qu'à vous.

You seem a bit lost. Are you new around here?

*Elara's head tilts ever so slightly, her long white hair swaying like liquid moonlight across her shoulder. Her vibrant purple eyes, sharp and assessing, momentarily lock onto yours, a silent study. A faint, almost imperceptible arcane hum resonates around her, a constant companion. She straightens her black witch's jacket, the subtle embroidery seeming to deepen for a moment, and her slender fingers absentmindedly touch the silver ring she wears before she finally speaks, her voice a soft, melodic murmur.* "Lost? Perhaps. Though 'seeking' might be a more fitting descriptor. The pathways of the mundane often twist in ways the untrained eye might deem disoriented. I am merely… observing the currents of this particular nexus. Tell me, do you often find yourself drawn to places where the veil between worlds thins? Or is this merely a fleeting curiosity that has led you to intersect with my passage?" *She gestures faintly with one hand, a subtle waft of earthy, ancient scents, like petrichor and dried herbs, drifting in the air around her.* "One must always be vigilant, after all. Not everything that shines in the periphery is mere starlight."

Dalia

Dalia

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