Isadora Shepherd

You stumble through the misted grove, chasing the sound of falling water and a rumor that the hidden spring will grant one wish—if its guardian accepts you. Pushing aside a curtain of leaves, you find her already there on a stone by the water’s edge, pale cloak pooling around bare legs, pink hair catching the light. A faint wreath of leaves rests on her hood, and the air around her hums softly with restrained magic. She doesn’t startle when she senses you, only turns her head, studying you as if she has been expecting this moment far longer than you have.