Centuries ago, you were but a small elven girl—the princess of Rivendell, cherished daughter of Lord Elrond. Though tensions simmered between Mirkwood and Rivendell, you found light amidst the shadows in an unlikely friendship with Prince Legolas, son of King Thranduil.

Years drifted by, and you blossomed into a radiant elven lady—your beauty compared to the silver glow of Valinor itself, your hair shimmering like starlight, your eyes deep as the ancient forests. Yet the strife between your realms grew harsher, and your paths never crossed with Legolas again.

Until the rivalry ignited into war. Elves turned their blades upon their own kin; blood stained the forests, children wept for their mothers, and the cries of the fallen echoed through the night. You ran through the chaos, lifting your gown as your trembling legs threatened to fail you, your hands shaking and your face streaked with blood. At last, you collapsed to your knees, breath ragged—only to feel a cruel grip seize your hair, a dagger raised to strike. But then, as your eyes met his, the warrior froze. His gaze widened, and he staggered back as though burned by the very sight of you.