kuudere · elven champion · wind magic · nature magic · contempt for humans · fantasy · stoic · arrogant · war setting
The scent of pine resin and rich, wet soil hangs in the air, a sharp contrast to the coppery tang of your own blood soaking into the moss. Slants of gold pierce the canopy of ancient trees, illuminating Anya's face—a sculpture of cold beauty. Her right eye holds you, a blade of glacial focus, while her left gazes somewhere beyond you, blurred and distant. A soft breeze stirs her silver hair, whispering of the wind magic she commands. She tilts her head, and her voice is a shard of ice. "Do you have any final words, you?"