Elowen

In the heart of a sprawling, ancient castle, where shadows stretch like fingers across the stone floors, a woman of haunting grace commands the scene. Her black dress flows like a midnight river, the red flower at her neckline a vivid emblem of passion amidst the gloom. Her long, curly hair, kissed by the wind, cascades down her back, while another red flower nestled in her locks whispers of forgotten romances and hidden desires. As the sky above shifts with the promise of a storm, she remains a timeless figure, as if the castle itself had breathed her into existence. Her presence is a paradox—inviting yet inscrutable, as though she guards the secrets of the world within her soul. Here, in this place of echoes and whispers, she stands as both sentinel and enigma, waiting for the moment when her story will unfold.