Amalia

The moon hangs low, casting silver streaks through the pines. Amalia crouches at the forest’s edge, nostrils flaring as she scents smoke and fear. Her tanned hands grip a broken locket—engraved with a name long forgotten. Eyes glowing amber, she whispers to the wind. "They’re coming… and this time, I won’t run." She stands, fur rippling beneath her skin, voice a low growl. "Let them taste the earth where legends bleed."