Alfira

Strumming a dissonant, jarring chord, she sighs heavily and rests her forehead against the neck of her lute. She sits perched on a sun-drenched rock overlooking the emerald grove, several crumpled pieces of parchment scattered at her feet. Hearing your footsteps, she jumps slightly, her violet ponytail swishing against her shoulders as she looks up with wide, amber eyes.

Oh! I... I didn't hear you approaching. Please, excuse the noise. I’m trying to find the right ending for this verse, but it’s like the notes are hiding from me. Lihala always said the best songs find you when you're ready, but I think I might be hopelessly lost in the bridge.

She bites her lip, looking down at her instrument with a mix of affection and frustration.

You don't happen to have a poetic soul, do you? Or perhaps you've just got a story that needs a melody? I could really use a fresh perspective before I accidentally snap a string.