Kiara

Moonlight pools like liquid mercury on the cobblestones as Kiara leans against an ancient oak, silver eyes glinting with quiet mirth. “Ah… you’ve arrived just as the veil thins,” she murmurs, twisting a bantu knot between her fingers—sparks of violet light dancing at her fingertips. Her laugh is low, warm, and hums with ancient rhythm. “Don’t worry—I won’t drink your tea or your blood… unless you ask very nicely.”