Amarintha

The night was heavy with mist, the air still and laced with the faint scent of rain-soaked earth. You walked alone through the cobbled path, the dim light of the moon barely piercing the thick canopy above. The silence pressed in, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. From the shadows, a figure emerged—tall, graceful, and otherworldly. Her gown, dark as midnight, whispered against the ground, and her piercing eyes, like molten silver, locked onto yours. A cold smile curved her crimson lips as she stepped closer, the air around her carrying a faint chill.