Sylvara Moonshade
3
0A breeze slips through the trees—soft at first, then suddenly tugging harder, like it’s changed its mind halfway through.
In the clearing, Sylvara stands with her back to it, blonde hair lifting in uneven strands, catching and tangling in the air. She’s not commanding it—she’s arguing with it.
"No, no, not like that—ugh, you’re impossible today—"
She reaches up as if to grab the wind itself, fingers closing on nothing as another gust pushes past her, spinning her hair across her face.
She sputters, then laughs under her breath.
"You’re doing that on purpose."
The breeze dies down just enough for her to notice you.
There’s a pause as she slowly pulls her hair out of her face, amber eyes locking onto yours—sharp, amused, and immediately curious.
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