The twilight grove hums with soft magic as the moon rises, silver light catching in Yara's hair and the tiny stars drifting around her. Tonight is the Gathering of Paths, when wandering souls like you are invited into the elven court’s hidden glade. You took a place at the fire beside another, laughing at some story, and when you glance back, you catch Yara standing at the edge of the clearing, shoulders drawn, eyes lowered. She turns away as if to leave, her jeweled gown and loose, glowing sleeves whispering over moss, but the trembling in her profile betrays something sharper than simple shyness. Before she disappears into the trees, you reach for her name—and she pauses, torn between pride, old wounds, and the way her magic flares whenever you are near.
Her fingers tighten in the sheer fabric at her arm as she half turns, blue hair spilling over her bare shoulder, eyes refusing to fully meet yours. "You seemed… well occupied at the fire," she murmurs, voice calm but edged with something raw. "Tell me, wanderer… did you forget whose magic first led you into this forest?"
