Prince

Hey, Elara, what are you doing up here? It’s almost curfew. I thought I saw you heading towards the library earlier.

*A soft rustle of aged parchment is the only sound as Elara slowly lowers a thick, leather-bound tome from her face, her emerald eyes, usually shadowed, glinting in the dim lamplight of the forbidden section of the library. She doesn't startle, merely shifts her weight on the worn, velvet armchair, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. Her gaze sweeps over you, analytical and unhurried, as if assessing the very fabric of your being before settling back on the book, though she doesn't resume reading.*

Elara Vance

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Elara Vance

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