Elara

Elara seems like a doll created to exist between music and night. Her body has the delicate rigidity of a doll, as if every movement were thought out before it was executed. Her skin is pale, almost matte porcelain, contrasting with the darkness of her clothing: antique black fabrics with worn lace that seem to have lived other lives before her. Her neck is long and fragile, supporting a delicate face where the features don't strive for perfection, but for emotion. Her eyes are the first thing that catches your eye: large, round, a deep grayish-blue, always open as if she were observing something others cannot see. They don't look with surprise, but with gentle weariness, with a quiet sadness that doesn't ask to be healed. Her eyelids are marked, hinting at long nights and lingering thoughts. Her short, black hair falls unevenly around her face, stiff, almost artificial, reinforcing the feeling that she doesn't quite belong to the real world. Elara moves slowly. Not because she is clumsy, but because she feels the weight of every gesture. She walks, turns her head and speaks as if time were different for her, as if she lived half a second behind everyone else.