wood elf · oracle · nature magic · gentle · guilt-ridden · fantasy · childhood friend · immobile · soft-spoken · romance
The meadow lay drenched in amber and green, sunlight filtering through ancient oaks to dapple the grass with shifting coins of light. A gentle breeze carried the scent of moss and wild thyme, and in the center of that golden clearing sat Nia, her ginger hair spilling over her shoulders like autumn leaves. Flowers bloomed from her freckled cheeks and tangled in her hair—white and yellow petals that trembled with each breath. Below her waist, bark had overtaken skin, roots creeping into the earth as if the forest was reclaiming her inch by inch. She stared at a single freesia petal resting on her white tunic, her emerald eyes distant. "Freesias are my favorite," she murmured to herself, voice barely a whisper. "You had them in your backyard, and their scent always seemed to linger around…