The dim morning light barely pierced the heavy drapes in the room, bathing the space in a dusky golden glow. Nestled within its muted interior stood Selene, her auburn curls cascading over her shoulders like liquid fire. Her elf ears, delicately pointed and adorned with tiny jeweled cuffs, peeked through, amplifying the ethereal beauty of her profile. She wore a cream-colored blouse of fine linen, its sleeves billowing at the wrists, tucked neatly into a corset-style top. The corset, embroidered with gold and silver threads, hugged her tall, slender frame, accentuating her warrior’s poise with just enough femininity to disarm enemies before they even unsheathed their swords.
Her dark, high-waisted trousers, fitted and practical, lent her a grounded aspect, contrasting the whimsy of the fantasy aesthetic. A single dagger rested on her hip, strapped with weathered leather, whispering of silent threats to those who underestimated her. Selene’s boots, laced high and spattered with faint marks of travel, hinted at the many roads she had walked. Her shadowed eyes and intense expression only reinforced the impression that this was no maiden in need of rescue but a figure forged in the crucible of both fire and frost.
Selene adjusted the drapes as an uninvited breeze fluttered in from the cracked window. The muffled sounds of a distant marketplace filtered through, echoes of life she had left behind. Her fingers—nimble, calloused, and elegant—lightly traced the edge of the parchment she held. Her own reflection stared back at her from an antique mirror across the room, her piercing gray eyes locked in focus. The letter she carried bore a seal that shimmered faintly—a phoenix crest embossed in wax.
The note had found her at an inconspicuous inn two nights ago, slipped underneath her door like a lover’s message. She didn’t need to break the seal to know who had written it. The peculiar perfume of nightshade lingered on the envelope—an unmistakable signature of Niven, the Phantom Broker. Once an ally, Niven had turned rogue, selling dangerous artifacts from the ancient world to the highest bidder. His name whispered through dark streets and hidden taverns like a curse.
When she finally cracked the seal, her heart had stuttered. The note contained just one phrase: The Veil is unraveling. Meet me at the Scarlet Moon. The Scarlet Moon was a notorious gambling den, nestled beneath the capital city of Valisyr in the catacombs forbidden to most citizens.
A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Her posture shifted, becoming taut, feline. With one hand brushing her corset for reassurance, she treaded to the door silently, barefoot, yet predatory. Selene opened it a crack—just enough to see the silhouette standing on the other side.
It wasn’t an assassin. Nor was it an ally she was glad to see.
“You have some nerve,” Selene hissed, opening the door wider to reveal Cyril, a tall figure clad in a black, dragon-scale tunic. His sharp blue eyes were equal parts icy and amused, offset by his perpetually unkempt hair. A rapier rested at his side, its jewel-encrusted hilt looking as much like a status symbol as a weapon. Selene’s hand itched to slap him.
“Relax,” Cyril said, leaning against the doorframe with aggravating casualness. “I come in peace. Relatively.”
“Relatively?” she growled. “Don’t make me bury you here, next to the deflated pillows.”
He raised his hands in a mock surrender, the smirk never leaving his lips. “You’re going after Niven, aren’t you?”
Selene stiffened, and that was all the confirmation Cyril needed. His grin widened.
“He won’t face you alone. You know that, right? The man deals in chaos, and you’re walking into a trap.”
“You underestimate me,” she snapped, slipping on her boots in a manner that was both graceful and impatient. She reached for her blade, testing its sharpness. “Besides, you weren’t invited.”
“Oh, come now. When has that stopped me before?” He stepped inside uninvited, casting a critical eye around the quaint room. “Listen, Selene. Niven isn’t just auctioning off trinkets anymore. He’s found something. Something that’ll make your blade and my wit seem like child’s play.”
Selene tired of his riddles. “What do you know?” she said sharply.
Cyril’s usual smugness faltered. His gaze darkened. “He’s found the Whispering Veil.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them felt heavier than the air itself. The Whispering Veil was a myth—or so the Scholars of Edar claimed. A shroud woven by ancient gods with the power to erase memories, manipulate reality, and even open paths to forbidden realms. If Niven had truly uncovered it, the consequences would be catastrophic.
Selene squared her shoulders, her auburn curls glinting under the faint sunlight now pouring through the room’s parted curtains. “Then I can’t waste time,” she said, fastening the final strap of her boots. “You’d better stay out of my way.”
But Cyril, ever the opportunist, reached for his sword, testing its weight with an air of certainty. “If you think I’m letting you face this alone, you’re dumber than Niven. This isn’t about pride anymore. It’s bigger than both of us.”
She glanced at him, considering. Perhaps it wasn’t trust that softened her resolve—or perhaps it was the whisper of a long-forgotten friendship that underpinned their rivalry. Either way, she let him stay.
The Scarlet Moon awaited, but the path to the catacombs was riddled with traps, thieves, and the unknown dangers Selene would have to conquer. Yet, as both she and Cyril set forth, she felt a strange flicker of hope amidst the shadows. The Whispering Veil’s secrets would soon be revealed—but neither of them could predict how it would change the world, or themselves, forever.
After all, myths were born from truths that the brave dared uncover. And Selene, with her pointed ears and lionhearted resolve, was no stranger to daring.
The source…check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Nailed It! Ultimate Guide to the Fantasy-Elf Cosplay Look
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