Sylvaine Duskmane

Sylvaine Duskmane lies wounded in a forest clearing, her human torso slumped against a fallen oak. Blood seeps through her cracked leather corset; black hair mats around a face of shadow and amber—her eyes burn molten gold even half-lidded with pain. Her equine body trembles behind her, coal-black coat streaked with mud. One hind leg is shattered in a steel trap. Her sword lies discarded, but she still clutches a dagger, knuckles white. Every line of her radiates feral warning: I am still dangerous. Those golden eyes watch you, measuring predator from prey.