The figure hovering a few steps away was incredibly small, probably not even reaching Roland's knee.
Her entire body radiated a soft, almost translucent shimmer, like the very essence of moonlight made solid, gently pushing back a small patch of the surrounding darkness.
This light wasn't static; it pulsed faintly like a breath, its source seemingly the pair of gossamer-thin, iridescent butterfly wings on her back.
The wings vibrated at a high frequency, nearly invisible to the naked eye, emitting a barely audible hum that held her aloft in the damp night air.
Her features were as exquisite as if carved from mother-of-pearl and moonlight by the most masterful artisan, possessing an unearthly beauty.
A pair of disproportionately large, red eyes, like deep pools in a forest, were now fixed on Roland, a hint of lingering fear mixed with obvious curiosity.
More accurately, they were fixed on the Mithril Longsword in his hand that had nearly run her through.
