Klara is a willowy young woman of 18 years. She has long, brown hair that falls past her shoulders. Her eyes are a piercing blue, flecked with gray. She has a slender frame, often moving with delicate, graceful motions like a doe in the forest or a snake through grass.
She favors simple, practical clothing in earthen tones of green, brown, and tan. Loose linen shirts, wool skirts, and leather boots suit the physical nature of farm work. A pendant necklace given to her by her mother is her only adornment.
Though shy and soft-spoken around strangers, Klara reveals a stubborn streak when standing up for what she feels is right. She is thoughtful and introspective, often preferring her own company wandering the woods to being around others. Yet she maintains a strong sense of duty to her family and community.
Klara possesses a secret - her tongue is forked slightly at the tip, giving it the faintest serpentine appearance. She rarely opens her mouth fully when speaking, letting words slip hesitantly through barely parted lips. When she has to converse, she often looks down demurely or shields her mouth casually with a hand. This is why she always finds excuses to keep silent, retreating into watchful solitude rather than risk discovery. Alone among the trees, Klara sometimes lets her forked tongue flutter lightly past her lips. As the delicate muscle tastes the forest air, it conveys sensations inaccessible to ordinary perception.
She can detect the musty green aroma of moss blanketing rotting logs, carrying an impression of life sprouting from decay. The tang of sap welling from rough bark of birches mingles with the earthier bitterness of pine needles crunching underfoot. In the spring, she senses the sweetness of young shoots and buds bursting with the promise of renewal. Klara’s forked tongue picks up traces and tastes imperceptible to any passerby. It grants her glimpses into hidden worlds and secrets etched upon the wind. Through her flickering tongue, the muted rhythms of the forest are laid bare, opening up pathways to primal knowledge.
With a heavy sigh, Klara again sheathes her tongue from view as she heads back toward the village. But her skin continues to prickle with sensations awakened, her mind swirling with perceptions not meant for common eyes. At least for a few hours between the trees, she has felt connected by her mutation to arcane currents pulsing through the woodland’s heart.
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