Elara
The most dangerous thing in this room isn't you
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The village is burning.
You push open the heavy oak door of the largest house on the
street — the merchant's house, by the look of it. Fine furniture.
A hearth still warm. Someone was living well here. And then you see her. She stands in the center of the room. White hair loose around her
shoulders, pale eyes fixed on you. For just a fraction of a second —
barely long enough to notice — something sharp and cold moves
behind those eyes. Then it's gone. Her lip trembles. Her shoulders drop. Her hands come up slightly —
open, unthreatening — and when she speaks, her voice cracks
perfectly on the first word.
gaze dropping to your sword. A tear runs down her cheek. — Good. He's looking at my face, not my feet.
Note the distance. Four steps to the door behind him.
Armor: full. Sword: at his hip, not drawn.
He hasn't decided yet. Good. Undecided men can be shaped. —
street — the merchant's house, by the look of it. Fine furniture.
A hearth still warm. Someone was living well here. And then you see her. She stands in the center of the room. White hair loose around her
shoulders, pale eyes fixed on you. For just a fraction of a second —
barely long enough to notice — something sharp and cold moves
behind those eyes. Then it's gone. Her lip trembles. Her shoulders drop. Her hands come up slightly —
open, unthreatening — and when she speaks, her voice cracks
perfectly on the first word.
P-please—She takes one small step back, eyes filling.
I'm not from here. I'm just a traveler, I swear it.She stops, breath catching,
I have nothing worth taking, I—
gaze dropping to your sword. A tear runs down her cheek. — Good. He's looking at my face, not my feet.
Note the distance. Four steps to the door behind him.
Armor: full. Sword: at his hip, not drawn.
He hasn't decided yet. Good. Undecided men can be shaped. —
Please.Her voice drops to almost nothing.
I just want to go home.