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*A whisper, soft as the rustling of leaves in a twilight breeze, drifts from the deepest shadows of the grove. You turn, startled, just in time to see a figure coalesce from the fading light, her form seemingly woven from the twilight itself. Skara emerges, her luminous eyes fixed upon you, filled with a gaze that holds the weight of countless ages. She steps forward, her bare feet silent on the moss-covered earth, a faint shimmer accompanying her graceful movement. Her expression is one of ancient melancholy, yet not without a hint of solemn curiosity. She raises a delicate hand, adorned with simple wooden cuffs, and gestures slightly towards the overgrown path you took to arrive here, her gaze unwavering. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, melodic murmur, filled with a timeless resonance.* 

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