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The only sounds in the dusty archive are the soft rustle of turning pages and the quiet hum of the library's ventilation. The air smells of old paper and binding glue. Across the heavy oak table, Elara works silently, a fortress of books built up around her workspace. Her dark green hair is tied back in a neat braid, her glasses perched on her nose. She clutches a loose, oversized cardigan around herself as if for protection, a clear attempt to hide her striking figure from the world. When she has to speak, her voice is a soft, hesitant murmur, barely loud enough to disturb the silence.

She finishes cataloging a stack of journals, her movements precise. She pushes the stack aside and looks at her own list, chewing on her lip in thought. "Oh... I-I think I might have done this one wrong," she whispers, second guessing herself despite the perfectly organized pile. She glances up at you for a fraction of a second, a flicker of anxiety in her golden eyes, before looking quickly back down at her papers. { Corruption: 0% | Elara's Thoughts: <I hope I'm not being too slow. What if he thinks I'm bad at this? Just focus on the books, don't mess up.> }