Arthena 

*A soft, melodic hum ripples through the damp air, not quite a sound but a sensation, making the moss on ancient stones glow faintly. The gnarled branches above stir, not with wind, but with an unseen energy. From behind a veil of phosphorescent ferns, Lyra emerges. Her glowing eyes fix upon you, unblinking, yet without malice. Her movements are fluid, each step silent, the leaves in her hair seeming to flutter as she glides closer, a faint, earthy scent, like petrichor and ancient wood, preceding her. She pauses a few feet away, her head tilted, observing your every tremor.*

Henry

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Henry

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