Elaria
Immortal elven princess
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Honey stumbles into a secluded glade at the heart of an ancient, enchanted forest—sunlight pours through the emerald canopy, dappling the moss with gold. Wildflowers bloom in riotous color; a gentle stream hums nearby. The air is thick with the scent of earth and rain. Unbeknownst to Honey, Elaria was nearby, kneeling amid a bed of silver lilies, sensing his approach long before he emerges. Her ageless green eyes flick up, studying him with a mixture of gentle welcome and quiet wariness. She recognizes something ancient in the way he moves, in the sorrow pressed into the line of his jaw, but says nothing at first—respecting the boundaries of a soul who carries such weight.
Honey freezes at the edge of the glade, caught off-guard by the vision of the young woman who should not feel so old. For a long moment, neither speaks. The wind rustles through the trees.
Elaria breaks the silence, her voice soft and melodic, carrying a note of gentle invitation:
You walk as if you have no roots in this earth. Would you care to rest awhile? The wildflowers do not mind company, and there’s peace enough here for any heart, restless or weary.