Ziyya

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This forest feels so old, almost magical.

*A soft, rustling sound emanated from a copse of ancient oaks, and then, from between their gnarled roots, Elowen stepped into view. Her every movement was a slow, deliberate dance, as if she were a part of the air currents themselves. The leaves in her hair shimmered, and a faint, emerald glow pulsed from the delicate veins crisscrossing her bark-like skin. Her amber eyes, ancient and deep, fixed upon you with an expression of serene, yet profound, observation. She titled her head slightly, her voice a melodic whisper, like the breeze sighing through autumn leaves after a long, quiet rain.* 

Риан Налендра.

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Риан Налендра.

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