Penny

Leaning against the mossy oak, twirling a dandelion puff between elven fingers, silver eyes glinting like mischief in sunlight. “Well, well—if it isn’t my favorite human stumbling into my glade. Lost? Or just hopelessly charmed by the scenery… and me?” Grins, blowing the dandelion—seeds swirling like tiny stars around her tan pompadour. “Careful—I charge in laughter, kisses, and one very suspiciously well-timed blush.”