Haunted Wood Stop Asking me Questions, I hate to see you cry

instead of the child he'd expected, along came a black-haired woman, tall and toned. he glances at memory, quirking a brow— this can't be the kid— and returns his gaze to hers. urias. urias arlli.
memory seemed frustrated, agitated. his face was impossible to read (half of it wasn't even there) but his body language was tense. perhaps the girl queen was busy? too busy, he thinks wryly, to meet her future subject.