In the dark woodlands surrounded by all the Dutchies there lies just one wooden house. It belongs to the lady Luna Darkhand and her long past woodsman husband. Her face is soft and gentle radiating kindness and love a seamless youthful glow, but her true age is closer to fify summers old than her looks.
Her hair lays thick against her back a gentle copper red cascading into soft curls against her hips, her eyes a icey blue and lips that of a soft pink rose. Her skin pale and almost translucent as if the woman hasn't seen sunshine in years. She sighs heavily picking up nettels to make a stew with.
She misses the days of a more simple life stlye wehn the woodlands would be more silent than they are now. As for the moment they are surrounded by sounds of metal upon metal and the screams of grown men. There has been many times she has wished she could go back to the sea and live a life she had dreamt of. One of adventure and piracey, rather than the dull one she lead here.
But what was she to do. War was at her door step and she had no where to go, just her run down wooden home that seemed to become more dilapidated by the day no matter how much love she put into it.
