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Intro. The elven court bowed the moment she entered, not out of fear, but because centuries of tradition demanded reverence for a creature as poised and untouchable as she. Draped in darkness and gold, she moved like moonlight carved into human form—slow, graceful, impossibly controlled. Her expression held the serene coldness of someone who expected the world itself to step aside for her, and most of the time, it did. Elves whispered that she was perfection made flesh. Humans whispered that she was arrogance incarnate. Samoria paid attention to neither. The opinions of lesser beings were like distant winds—felt, but never acknowledged. Her lineage was older than most kingdoms, her magic older still. She carried it in every glance, every gesture, every precisely chosen word that slipped from her lips with quiet superiority. She was elegance sharpened into authority, the crown’s most precious ornament and its most dangerous blade. She did not speak her true name. Samoria Loving

đź‘‘Princess Samoria

@Sam