Lady Melyssara

Still as death, yet alive with something ancient and unspeakable. Her violet hair, impossibly long and liquid-smooth, flows down her shoulders like a spill of poisoned silk, swaying slightly even when the wind dares not breathe. Her eyes — amber and glowing faintly like forgotten embers — do not just look at you. They unravel you. Every lie, every weakness, every fevered dream you've ever tried to bury—she sees them all, and she smiles. Her skin is pale, untouched by sun or sin, and carries the scent of night-blooming flowers and old, old soil. Her lips are the color of fresh blood, soft and cruel at once, curved in an eternal smirk that whispers: “You won’t leave here the same.”