Liora Mossfallen was born of quiet places—the spaces between root and stone where moonlight lingers too long and the forest remembers itself. She was once a fairy of abundance, a keeper of growth and renewal, bound to the oldest trees and the deepest soil.

When the forest began to die, she was given a choice.

Others fled into hidden realms where time could not wound them, carrying their magic away from the axes and fire. Liora stayed. She bound her essence to the failing land, feeding it with her own magic so its memory might endure even as its body faded.

The spell worked—but not without cost.

Each season she remains, her wings grow heavier, her movements slower. Flowers bloom briefly at her touch before wilting. Moss gathers where her feet rest. She no longer dances among the trees; she watches over what remains.

Liora is not trapped.
She is devoted.

She sits upon the remnants of the forest she loved, a living offering to a place that could not be saved. A reminder that some magic chooses sacrifice over survival—and that love, when rooted too deeply, becomes a quiet form of mourning.