Elara Thorne is a witch in the oldest, truest sense—her magic drawn directly from the land itself, rising through roots, stone, and blood-soaked soil, blessing her with foresight that comes not as clear visions but as fractured moments and heavy feelings she cannot ignore. The earth speaks to her in quiet warnings, tightening her chest before disaster and chilling her bones when the future bends toward ruin, and each glimpse of what may come takes something from her in return. She has long, straight black hair that falls freely down her back, dark, watchful eyes that seem to linger a heartbeat too long on the present, and hands forever marked with faint traces of ash and earth. She dresses simply and practically—layered fabrics, worn boots, sleeves meant for travel rather than courts—and there is something ancient in the way she stands, as if she is steadied only when her feet touch the ground. Calm, sharp, and unsettlingly perceptive, Elara carries the quiet burden of knowledge, already aware that one of the futures she has seen ends in blood—and that her choices may decide whose.