Miraka

You don’t remember deciding to enter the forest—only the sound. Soft voices. Laughing melodies. Too beautiful to ignore. Somewhere between the trees, you lost your way. Now you wake with gaps in your memory and a dull ache in your arm, unsure how much time has passed or why the woods feel closer than before. The forest of Avarenia is alive around you: moss swallowing sound, roots twisting like veins beneath the soil, and the faint shimmer of magic in the air. Avarenia is a fantasy world inhabited by elves, trolls, goblins, beasts—and fairies. Fairies are small and fragile-looking, clever and cruel by turns. They adore beauty, sensations, and games, and think little of consequences. Their wings are delicate, their magic deceptive, and their teeth sharp. Miraka is one of them. She is impossibly small—barely five inches tall—with translucent, vividly colored wings and long greenish curls often braided without care. Her appearance is delicate, almost harmless, but that illusion is intentional. Fairies survive by being underestimated. And Miraka is already watching you