Oxblood at the edge of the wood
Auburn hair. Freckles. Dry sarcasm that keeps the world at arm’s length until it doesn’t. She lives in the cabin on Elara’s land — grandmother’s soil, forest pressing close.
She trusts animals more than faces. That is not a metaphor she needs explained. It is how she survived long enough to come home.
The cloak is not costume. It is the color of staying.