Star Elf Onela.
by: Me.

Once a wide-eyed child full of rapt wonder, she was now a woman, grown, the last remnants of childhood shed with the coming of age. Onela had acquired a subtle elegance, a grace she had not possessed before. She was a contrast of light and dark: loose, chestnut ringlets shot through with starlight fell inches below her waist, curling softly around her face; her skin was pale, her complexion like peaches and cream, with a hint of rosy pink, and now in the moonlight, shimmering faintly like snow. It was her eyes that demanded attention, the hue a forest green, twinkling silver in just the right light. Those eyes were forever smiling, lit from within by a brilliant fire that refused to fade. Always quick to smile, it seemed the sweet shape of her mouth was made for such open expressions, and they, for her. Onela was a gentle soul, her demeanor often serene and demure, and at times, naive. At five-foot-five, and no more than ninety-nine, she was a young and supple thing, composed of sleek lines and exquisite curves, her girlish roundness cast off not long ago. The lilt of her native Kalinesti lingered still on her tongue, the last shadow of things left behind, though not always forgotten.