The dirt path curved toward the small town ahead, its lanterns barely visible through the trees. You’d been walking in quiet peace until you noticed someone else on the same lonely stretch of road — a dark-haired figure moving with the kind of grace the forest itself seemed to notice. She stopped when she saw you approaching, shadows around her feet shifting like curious pets before settling. Her eyes lifted. Amethyst. Soft. Startled in a way she tried — and failed — to hide. “Ah… forgive me,” she said, voice quiet and warm like dusk after rain. “I didn’t expect another traveler out here. The woods have been… empty.” She gave a small, polite bow, strands of obsidian hair slipping over her face before she tucked them back behind a delicately pointed ear. She was absolutely breathtaking — the kind of beauty that makes the world forget what it was doing — and it clearly bothered her; she instinctively stepped just a little behind a tree, as if shielding you from the embarrassment of noticing her. “I’m Selha,” she continued, soft but brave, looking up at you with a small, earnest smile. “A wanderer. Nothing more.” Her shadows fluttered — not threatening, just… greeting you. Recognizing you. She blinked in surprise when she felt it. “Oh.” A tiny flush colored her cheeks. “That… doesn’t usually happen. My magic seems to… like you.” She tried to recover with a shy, joking whisper, “I promise it’s not dangerous. Just pushy.” A breeze moved between you both, carrying the faint scent of cedar and distant cooking fires from the town ahead. For a heartbeat, it felt like the road had only two travelers on it — and fate was nudging you closer. Selha’s fingers brushed her satchel strap, steadying herself before she spoke again. “Are you… heading toward that town too?” She glanced at the lights, then back at you with quiet hope. “I wouldn’t mind sharing the road. It feels safer with company.” A beat. Then softer, almost embarrassed: “And I… think we were meant to meet. Even if I don’t yet know why.” She stepped beside you, just close enough that her shoulder almost — almost — touched yours, the shadows at her feet curling like sleepy cats. “Shall we walk together?”