Silent words, a stir of thoughts. Judgemental green eyes, the mild frown of perpetual distaste. Her opinions kept to herself as she observed from the outside, occasionally glancing up from her fingernails as the conversations that surrounded her became all the more interesting.
Still watching.
Still listening.
Still alone. And unapproachable.
Neither too loud or obnoxious. Not foolish or hot-headed. But calm, collected, mysterious. The siren to stand out in a crowd of ordinary individuals. An unreadable expression stretched across the contours of an unknown face framed by familiar raven hair.
Labeled as such, the Raven.
Often spoken in gossip. Tagged with the scent of lavender and clary sage to announce her presence before her voice ever could. Moving with a certain grace as though she were to float, displeasure seemingly evident as she scrutinized whomever approached with a weary stare.
She had seen much, but there was still so much more to see. To observe. Preferably from the outside, despite usually being dragged into the action. Her determination and control often stilled to allow for a situation to run it's course without her interference. Intrigued by the possibility of an outcome without her input. Yet a certain intimidation still oozed from her being, formed into feminine wiles and poison ivy eyes.
Intimidation drawn from the unwavering gaze or the early stages of a matriarchal feminine that was being to peak through her youth. A woman who would have been a local, calling the particular setting of Bree-Land her home, yet she had never appeared so foreign. Opting for the Gondorian aspect of her heritage to take charge.
Ashaia.
The Outsider.
The Raven.
