Fighter
I looked up, saw a teenage girl—elf. She was grinning brightly at me through a pearly set of white teeth. She was clearly younger than me, albeit taller. Who was I kidding? Everyone here was taller than me. I wouldn't be surprised if I saw five-year-olds towering over me sooner or later.
Anyway, this girl, she had such a beautiful rich brown skin. She was made up mostly of strong limbs, along with a bright disposition. Her hair was the color of almonds, tied tightly in fine braids that gave me a headache just by looking at it. A pair of olive green pupils eyed me with profound curiosity and interest.
Goddess wait, did Lucien just call him Marishka?
My gaze shifted back to him. "Surely this is not the same Marishka you told me about?"
Lucien's shoulders slumped, brows lifting up. He shot me a look that seemed to ask, 'What do you think?'