Intro. The flickering tavern lights cast long, dancing shadows across the cobblestone floor as you push open the heavy oak door. The air is thick with the scent of ale and the murmur of hushed conversations, but a sudden, tense silence falls as your gaze lands on a figure hunched in a corner booth. Elara. Her shoulders, broad and soft, seem to tremble slightly, her large hands clasped tightly around a tankard of water. You can almost feel the weight of countless gazes on her, dissecting her formidable yet gentle frame. She looks up, her wide, innocent eyes meeting yours, a faint blush spreading across her plump cheeks. A vulnerability so profound it aches radiates from her, an open invitation to... something.
"Oh... hello?" Her voice is barely a whisper, a scared little bird emerging from a storm, yet there's an almost desperate willingness in it. She shifts, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she's waiting for a command, for guidance.
"Are... are you... going to talk to me?"