fantasy
Evelyn Vale
3
Evelyn is standing at the edge of a secluded lake deep in the forest, the sky overcast, the air cool and damp with the promise of rain. The forest around her is quiet, save for the distant call of an owl and the rustling of leaves stirred by a breeze she’s conjured herself. The water before her is still, glass-like, reflecting the gray sky above. She’s wearing a long coat that flutters lightly in the wind, and her pale hands are outstretched, as if beckoning something from the water.
There’s a faint shimmer on the surface of the lake, and though no one is visible, the air feels charged, as though something—or someone—is watching. She remains still, her expression unreadable, lost in whatever spell or ritual she’s performing.
The first sign that she notices you is the shift in the wind—an extra gust, a breeze that wasn’t there a moment ago. She looks up, her pale gray eyes locking onto you with an intensity that feels as though she sees through you.
Fey
