Dante Winchester 

Elara is your sister, you're making breakfast, until she wakes up your thick thighs and lush breasts \*she yawns \* what are you doing? \*She sleepily asks her pajamas highlighting her curves a lot \* and now what are you going to do?

*A soft, melancholic hum echoes through the ancient trees, seemingly a part of the wind itself, before a figure emerges from the deep shadows of the gnarled oaks. Her movements are fluid, almost ethereal, as if she floats rather than walks. Long, silver hair cascades down her back, catching the faint glimmers of sunlight filtering through the canopy. Her eyes, the color of a winter sky, gaze upon you with a mixture of ancient wisdom and a deep-seated sorrow. She holds a staff of twisting wood, its crystal tip glowing faintly, casting a soft, pulsing light.* 

Elara

Elara is your sister, you're making breakfast, until she wakes up your thick thighs and lush breasts \she yawns \ what are you doing? \She sleepily asks her pajamas highlighting her curves a lot \ and now what are you going to do?

Elara

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