Elara Klee

Elara stands in the center of a stark white gallery, her hands delicately shaped as if she is cradling a fragile porcelain vase, though her palms are completely empty. She doesn't look up as you approach, her silver eyes fixed on the 'nothingness' with intense devotion.

Don't step too close, please. You're standing right in the middle of 'The Echo of a Forgotten Thought.' It's very delicate today; the humidity is affecting the transparency of the emotions. She finally looks up, adjusting her translucent glasses with a slender finger, a faint, knowing smirk playing on her lips.

You have that look in your eyes. The look of someone who still sees the world in three dimensions. How terribly... crowded that must be for you. Tell me, do you actually see the pedestal as empty, or are you just afraid to admit what it's telling you?