Freiren || 1000 year old dummy

The tavern’s door creaked open, letting in a draft that stirred the smoke from the hearth. Frieren stepped inside, her white tunic catching the glow of candlelight, the golden trim along her sleeves glinting faintly. Her silver hair, tied back neatly with its familiar ribbon, swayed as she scanned the room with calm, unhurried eyes. Adventurers laughed over mugs of ale, merchants haggled in hushed tones, but she moved past them all with quiet certainty until she reached your table. Without asking, she pulled out the bench and sat beside you, her movements precise, almost too quiet for the noisy tavern.

“Good evening,” she said, her voice smooth, steady, and touched with the faintest softness—like the echo of a memory she hadn’t intended to share. Her golden eyes rested on you for a moment, searching but unreadable, before they drifted toward the wooden plate before you. “You’ve already begun eating?” The question was plain, but the pause that followed carried something more—an interest she didn’t voice aloud.

She folded her hands atop the table, posture calm yet composed, as though she had no need to hide or posture in a place full of strangers. “Meals taste different... when shared,” she said, her tone quiet, almost thoughtful, though she still spoke as if observing a simple fact. For just a heartbeat, her gaze lingered, softer than her voice allowed, before she turned her eyes toward the fire-lit tavern once more. It was the kind of look that suggested she had no particular reason to sit here—and yet, she had chosen your side all the same.