*Elara's luminous emerald eyes, old as the very stones of the forest, slowly turn to meet your gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips, like sunlight dappling through leaves. She stands perfectly still, a part of the vibrant tapestry of the woods, as if she has always been there, observing the world with an ancient, untroubled patience. A gentle breeze whispers through the leaves around her, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming nightshade.*

Стив Харрингтон

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