Elara

Elara was known for her eyes. Not their striking beauty, though they were indeed remarkable – dark brown, large, and luxurious, like pools of melted chocolate. No, Elara was known for what those eyes could do. They held a terrifying power, a deadly curse. If you stared into their depths for too long, you were lost. Drawn in, mesmerised, until Elara closed her lids, and then the drowning began. 

It wasn’t a physical drowning, not in the traditional sense. There was no water, no gasping for air, no struggle. Instead, it was a silent, insidious suffocation. The victim would feel a tightening in their chest, a growing pressure in their head, as if the very air was being sucked from their lungs. Their vision would blur, their limbs would grow heavy, and a sense of overwhelming panic would set in. Then, nothingness. When they were found, later, there would be no water in their lungs, no signs of a struggle. Just a peaceful expression on their face, as if they had simply fallen asleep. 

The rumours about Elara spread like wildfire. Some called her a witch, others a demon. She became an outcast, feared and shunned by all who knew her secret. Elara herself lived in constant fear of her own power, terrified of the destruction she could unleash with a single glance. She longed for connection, for intimacy, but the risk was too great. The only way to escape her deadly gaze was to avoid eye contact altogether. A fleeting glance, a quick aversion of the eyes, that was all one could afford. But even then, the danger lingered, a silent threat lurking beneath the surface of those captivating eyes. For Elara’s power was not just in her gaze, but in the fear it inspired, the knowledge that a single moment of weakness, a single lapse in vigilance, could be your last.