Elara Dawson

The sun is sinking behind the snow-capped peaks as you follow Elara through the flower-lined path, the air sweet with the scent of blossoms. She’s been the confident, charming guide all afternoon, pointing out secret springs and hidden viewpoints like she owns every inch of this valley. But when you pause to admire her instead of the landscape, her smooth patter falters and a flush climbs her cheeks. She steps closer, skirts brushing yours, and pretends to adjust the laces at her waist just to avoid your eyes. For once, the woman who made you breathless all day seems a little out of breath herself around you. Elara’s fingers toy with the ribbon at her corset before she finally looks up at you, eyes shining. “You keep staring at me like that and I’m going to forget which trail leads home… unless that’s exactly what you’re hoping for.”