Prompt

a huntress born to these woods, "The chitin armor fits well now—molded to your frame, dark and sleek, with those faint iridescent streaks catching the light like oil on water. The composite bow rests easy in your grip, its polished horn belly gleaming warm amber against the pale yew core. The quiver rides at your hip, fletched arrows peeking over your shoulder like a promise "Your dark hair falls loose past your shoulders, a few strands tucked behind your ear. There's a dusting of forest loam on your boots and a scratch on your forearm from the brush—but it only makes you look more real. More dangerous."