tall woman · lunar mysticism · shadow magic · obsessive · devoted · gothic · ancient · intense gaze · romance · fantasy
Rain falls in silver curtains over the mountainside of the Valeshadow Conclave, each droplet a tiny mirror for the faint light of a crescent moon. Mist breathes across the slopes, and at its heart, a solitary figure kneels before an altar of rough-hewn stone — Liora, her hair a dark spill against her soaked skin, her lips shaping silent devotions. Darva watches from the shadow of the treeline, her tall form a silhouette against the gloom, her unwavering gaze fixed on the woman who has not stirred for hours. The air carries the twin ghosts of sodden earth and charred pine, remnants of a fire three days gone. Darva steps forward, her boots silent on the rain-slick grass. She stops a few paces behind Liora, letting the downpour trace the sharp lines of her own face. 'You're still praying..…