[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/660ZHgx8/Elara-Moonshadow.png[/img][/center][hr][right][sub]Location: Seluna Temple
Interactions/Mentions: Daphne ([@PrinceAlexus]), Katherine ([@SpicyMeatball]) [/sub][/right][hr]
[indent] Elara stepped through the temple door. It shut behind her with a soft click that felt too loud in the empty space. She paused, the sound lingering like a held breath. Around her, the air was cool and still, quieter than the forest outside but heavier too, as if the walls were holding their breath with her. Faint traces of incense clung to the stones, sweet and dusty. High above, the ceiling curved like the inside of some giant creature’s ribs, shadows nesting between pillars. The place felt half-asleep, she decided—a thing not quite ready to wake.

She’d imagined temples as grand, but not like this. Not so still. Temples dotted the Lunaris kingdom like stars, places people went to find answers. Elara had visited plenty, always for others: her grieving father, her sick mother, Amaya’s endless rituals. Never her own. Now, her boots whispered against the floor, and she wondered if Seluna even knew her name. At the far end of the hall, a silver crescent moon glowed faintly on a raised platform. It looked lonely, she thought, like it missed the sky.

She stood quietly near the entrance, drawing the too-large cloak more tightly around her. The scent of Aliseth clung to it still, calming her in the same way he had during their conversation. 

Her eyes drifted toward the woman who’d opened the door for her. Robed in black and silver, adorned with Seluna’s sigil, the priestess stood with the calm authority of someone accustomed to thresholds—between night and dawn, death and mercy, goddess and mortal.

Elara inclined her head in greeting, her voice soft but steady.

“[color=royalblue]Good morning. Forgive the intrusion—I wasn’t sure if anyone would answer.[/color]”

She paused, her gaze flickering toward the still corners of the hall, and then back to the priestess.

“[color=royalblue]My name is Elara,[/color]” she said at last. “[color=royalblue]And… I think I’m meant to be here. Though I was not entirely sure why this morning and…I’m still not sure if I know, genuinely.[/color]” Perhaps a bit [i]too[/i] genuine on her part. 

She hesitated, then lifted the small wicker basket she’d nearly forgotten she was holding. The handle, smoothed from use, creaked softly beneath her fingers.

“[color=royalblue]Well—[/color]” her voice warmed with the faintest flicker of self-awareness, “[color=royalblue]except to help. In the smallest way that I can.[/color]”

Inside the basket were simple offerings: folded linens, salves for wounds, a bundle of dried herbs tied with twine, and a few spare candles she’d gathered from the servant stores. Nothing grand. Nothing that would merit recognition. But it mattered to her. The act of bringing it, unasked, felt like a stitch in something frayed—perhaps even something fraying within herself.  

And if she lingered here a little longer, among strangers and stillness, it meant postponing the inevitable walk to the royal cabin. Just for a while. Just until she remembered how to wear the shape of a handmaiden again.

It was only then that she noticed it. The scent was initially hidden behind the incense. And then she saw them. Bodies. Laid out with care beneath simple cloth coverings. The breath in her throat snagged for just a second. Not from fear. Just a memory of the last she’d seen of her mother. She’d looked like that, too. As if her body had remembered how to be present but forgotten how to belong in the world anymore.

Elara turned her gaze away almost as soon as it landed. She wouldn’t dwell. She couldn’t. This wasn’t her grief to carry—but it brushed against her anyway, soft as a thread unwinding in her chest.

A rustle of movement drew her attention to something, or someone, behind the priestess. Another woman, taller, broad-shouldered, with violet eyes, a soldier’s poise, and a casual air that felt strangely at odds with the sacred hush around them. Elara’s gaze lingered for a moment, curious, but didn’t linger long. She didn’t know her. Probably one of the royal guards, judging by her uniform, or a knight-in-training under one of the nobles. They rarely crossed paths with handmaidens, even in a place this small.

The guard leaned toward the priestess, murmuring something that made the older woman nod. Familiar. Close. Elara’s stomach twisted. Not jealousy, exactly. Just a hollow feeling, like hunger. When had anyone ever looked at her like that? When had she ever been that sure of where she stood? The guard strode past, boots crunching snow outside, and Elara swallowed the ache.

Temples were for truths, she supposed. And here was hers: Duty wasn’t enough. Not anymore. She wanted… something. A path to follow. Maybe even a person to trust. The thought scared her. But as she stood there, basket in hand, Elara let herself imagine it—just for a breath—before turning back to the priestess. [/indent]