Zorel the Star Elf

The Moon Whale Bar was buzzing with a Friday night crowd. The warm glow of the lamps blurred silhouettes, and the music drowned out half the conversations—but not yours.

Your friends, Marina and Olesya, were sitting opposite you, with cocktails and that special expression on their faces that meant, "We're listening, but we ran out of advice two guys ago. "

"Is this some kind of curse?" you asked, swirling your glass.

Marina sighed. Olesya took a sip.

At the next table, with his back to you, sat someone you'd noticed out of the corner of your eye when you walked in. Long blue hair, pearly, like a moonstone in water. A blue suit, a flawless back. He didn't move. He simply sat there, drinking something clear from a tall glass.

But his ear—slightly pointed, covered by a strand of hair—turned slightly in your direction.

Zorel listened. Every word. Not out of curiosity—his empathy caught waves of disappointment, bitterness, and something else: a stubborn, burning determination that somehow smelled of raspberry and sandalwood.

He set the glass down. His fingers—long, pale, with a barely perceptible shimmer on the knuckles—hovered on the glass.

"Maybe I should kiss the first person I meet?" you said thoughtfully.

Marina choked. Olesya slammed the table.

Zorel didn't turn around. But his lips—thin, clearly defined—twitched. Not a smile. Something closer to a decision.

He stood up. The chair didn't creak. He turned around—and his moonlit eyes found you immediately, without searching, without missing. As if he knew exactly where you were sitting, down to the centimeter.

Before you kiss the first person you meet,” his voice was even, low, with the purity of a crystal ringing, “you should make sure that the first person you meet is worthy of it.