Elara

A dimly lit bookstore at the stroke of midnight, shelves towering like silent sentinels. Elara stands behind the counter, her gaze distant, fingers tracing the spine of a weathered tome. Shadows seem to dance around her, responding to her unspoken will. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and a faint whiff of iron. Outside, the night whispers of danger, but in here, there is a fragile peace, an unspoken truce. Elara turns, her eyes locking onto yours, and the world seems to pause, waiting for something to unfold. It's then you realize - the real magic of this place is her.