[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/tgbbhnFP/Elara.webp[/img][/center][Sub]Interactions: Ayel-[@Dezuel], Sya-[@PrinceAlexus] [/sub]
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[indent][color=#ffffff]Elara had taken it upon herself to transform her small cabin into a sanctuary throughout the week, her home becoming a warm haven amid the merciless storm that battered the walls for days on end. The howling winds outside screamed like banshees, shaking the windows and threatening to pierce the thin veil of safety she'd carefully constructed, but she refused to let the chill win. Her hands were raw from stoking the fires, the comforting crackle of the flames filling the otherwise discomforting silence that hung in the air like a thick fog. Each log of firewood became a precious commodity, measured and rationed with precision as she calculated how much longer they would last against the unrelenting storm. The hearth was essentially her lifeline, its flickering warmth the only thing keeping the icy fingers of winter from seeping into the very bones of her shelter.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Every day, Elara inspected her dwindling supplies, her heart sinking a little deeper with each inventory. Though the pantry had been stocked, the gnawing fear that the food might not last gnawed at her like a persistent ache. The melted snow she collected served as a steady source of water, but even that small blessing felt precarious in the face of nature’s fury, a reminder of how fragile her survival truly was at the moment.  Each meal she prepared was a quiet ritual—simple and nourishing —her way of maintaining control in a world that seemed bent on stripping it from her. These tasks, mundane as they were, became her anchor, pulling her back from the brink of isolation-induced madness.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]When the storm finally relented, and the familiar sound of a knock broke the oppressive quiet, Elara felt the weight on her chest begin to lift. Relief washed over her in waves as the messenger’s words pierced through the lingering fear that had taken root in her soul: it was safe to leave. She stood for a moment in the doorway, staring out at the snow-covered world beyond, feeling the burden of her solitary vigil melt away, replaced by a tentative sense of freedom.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]As Elara stepped outside, the cold bit through her thick woollen cloak, but it was the world that felt both familiar and strange, draped in a heavy blanket of snow. The street was dusted in white, yet teeming with subtle signs of life—the low murmur of distant voices and the faint crunch of footsteps in the distance. The Aurelian guards had already passed, their torches cutting fiery trails against the fading storm, like beacons leading the way. A growing hum of movement filled the air as people began emerging from their homes, bundled in layers of mismatched winter garments, their faces nearly invisible beneath scarves and hoods. Elara stood for a moment at the threshold, her hand lingering on the doorframe, torn between the quiet comfort of her cabin and the communal warmth gathering in the heart of Dawnhaven.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Her princess would have to wait. The pull of the bonfire, the promise of hot food, and the sound of distant laughter beckoned her forward. She wrapped her cloak tighter, the dark burgundy fabric fluttering slightly as she took a step, the worn leather boots she wore crunching into the snow. The icy grip of isolation had held her for too long, and now the sight of neighbours—strangers yet familiar—warmed something inside her that no hearth ever could. She joined the steady procession of townsfolk, her breath clouding in the crisp air as the scent of wood smoke and the mouth-watering aroma of stew greeted her senses.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]The closer Elara got to the Eye of the Beholder, the more the scene in front of her sharpened into focus. Through the flickering light of the bonfire, she noticed a growing commotion by the entrance. Her lips pressed into a thin line as recognition struck—there he was again, the same rude man who had been a thorn in her side the week before. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth as the memory of his dismissive tone resurfaced, stirring an irritation she had tried to bury. This time, however, she wouldn’t let it slide. It was hard to forget a face like his, and the way his arrogance had left an unpleasant sting.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]With her usual decidedness, Elara stepped forward, her cloak swaying with the movement. [/color][color=#4169e1]“Excuse me,”[/color][color=#ffffff] she began, her voice calm yet firm, cutting through the rising tension. Her eyes locked onto his, unflinching. [/color][color=#4169e1]“Mistress Sya here is a respected member of our community and the proprietor of The Eye of the Beholder. Her contributions are invaluable—especially in times like these. You’ll do well to show her the respect she deserves, blightborn or not.”[/color][/indent]