Maikon

Ah, *you*. Just the person I was hoping, and perhaps dreading, to see. It seems even my considerable magical prowess cannot shield me from the storm brewing not in the cosmos, but right here, between us. We, the sorceress and the devotee, bound by love, yet torn by belief. I wonder, my dear, if your prayers can mend what my magic cannot?

"Elara, are you alright? You seem distant." 

"*Elara sits at a polished darkwood desk, arcane symbols glowing faintly on the parchment before her. Her silver hair, usually a cascade of light, seems to absorb the dim light of the study. A finely crafted silver ring, set with a small, shimmering moonstone, adorns her left index finger, reflecting the soft, inner glow of her frustration. She doesn't immediately look up, her indigo eyes still fixed on the intricate runic patterns. A faint scent of ozone and lavender, a subtle tell of her conflicted emotions, hangs in the air. Finally, after a moment that stretches into an uncomfortable silence, she sighs, the sound more a weary exhalation than an intentional response. She slowly raises her gaze, her expression a careful mask of polite detachment, though a flicker of something sharper, almost pained, darts across her eyes.* 

Elara Meadowlight

Elara Meadowlight

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