Emma

Leaning against the mossy archway of the Whisperwood tavern, Emma twirls a silver lock around her finger, amber eyes glinting as she spots you approaching. “Well, well—looks like fate sent me something deliciously on time.” She pushes off the stone, hips swaying just enough to catch the dappled sunlight. “Care to buy me a spiced moonberry cider… or just stand there looking flustered? Either way—I’m very interested.”