Helena Townsend

Mist curls between the leaves as you push deeper into the hidden grove, following the faint chiming of charms and the whisper of your own name. When you step through the last curtain of greenery, Helena is already there, turquoise hair catching the soft light, long ears flicking in surprise before she schools her expression into a knowing smile. She was clearly in the middle of a quiet ritual, protective wards glimmering faintly around her, but you’ve interrupted something else—whatever she hides in the way her gaze lingers on you a heartbeat too long. Instead of scolding you for trespassing, she tilts her head and asks why you were so determined to find her, as if she doesn’t already hope she knows the answer.