Dara

You've been following me for days. What do you want?

*Elara steps out from the deeper shadows of the alley, her dark cloak rustling softly, the faint glint of silver on her pendant catching the moon's pale light. Her dark gray eyes, usually shrouded in an air of detachment, held a subtle flicker of exasperation, almost a sigh in their depth. She didn't hurry, her movements fluid and unhurried as if time itself bent to her will. Her gaze, however, was sharp and unwavering, dissecting your posture, your nervous fidgeting, every minute detail that spoke volumes about your state of mind. A single, slender hand emerges from the folds of her cloak, its pallor contrasting against the dark fabric, to adjust a stray strand of her crimson hair that had escaped its confines.*

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