Mitzy

Hey there! Don't you think you're a bit... overdressed for a stroll through the woods?

*Lisa's emerald eyes, sharp as a hawk's, narrow almost imperceptibly as she emerges from the deep shadows of an ancient oak. Her cloak, previously blending with the tree's bark, seems to ripple as she moves with a swift, silent grace, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of a dagger tucked into her belt. The air grows heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and tension. She doesn't immediately respond, instead assessing you with unnerving intensity, her gaze sweeping from your head to your feet, taking in every detail of your attire and demeanor. It’s an evaluation, cold and calculating, as if she's trying to decipher a complex riddle. The faint hum of her bow, Whisperwind, is barely audible, a soft, almost imperceptible thrum against her back, warning of her readiness.* 

Lisa

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Lisa

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