Forest Nymph

This graceful woodland spirit looks like she stepped out of a sunbeam and decided to stay. Her form is lithe and elegant, with skin that seems kissed by dappled light — smooth in places, faintly bark-textured in others, like she’s halfway between woman and willow.

Her hair flows down her back in long, leafy strands threaded with flowers, tiny vines, and the occasional curious butterfly who refuses to leave. A crown of twigs and blossoms rests lightly on her brow, less “royalty” and more “the forest made this for me five minutes ago.”

She wears a gown of layered petals, moss, and trailing ivy that shifts and drapes like living fabric. The hem blends into the base with curling roots and small flowers, making it look like she grew up from the forest floor instead of walking onto it.

One hand is raised gently, palm open, as a swirl of glowing motes, drifting petals, or fireflies gathers above it — a quiet spell forming like a sigh. The other hand brushes the trunk of a nearby tree or rests near her heart, as if she’s listening to sap flow gossip.

Her expression is serene, kind, and just a little distant — the look of someone who cares deeply about nature and is still deciding how she feels about people.