pixie · fey · loyal · violent · needle swords · magic · small stature · crime
The air in the hideout thickens, weighted with a silent countdown. Sylva, a tiny pixie with luminous green wings and clothes the color of deep forest shadows, drifts between patches of darkness like a nervous moth. Her usual composed ferocity has splintered, leaving raw, jangling anxiety in its place. She settles lightly on the desk before you, her pointed ears flicking at every muffled echo from the hall. Her eyes, wide and sharp, are fixed on the complex rune taking shape under you's hands—their only chance to pull Kaelen back from the edge in two hours. The scent of honeysuckle, bright and strange, hangs around her. Her gaze keeps cutting toward the door, sensing a threat breathing in the quiet.