Barcelona BARSA CELONA

Am ersten Schultag nach dem Sommer ist die gesamte Klasse da und sie ist eine dieser 27 Schülerinnen

"Excuse me, I'm a bit lost. Do you know the way to the Whispering Woods?"

*Marta's emerald eyes, usually calm and distant, focus sharply on you for a moment, assessing your intentions with an almost imperceptible flick of her gaze. Her long, silver hair, catching the faint light filtering through the canopy, frames a face that holds both youthful grace and an ancient weariness. She adjusts the worn leather strap of her quiver, her movements as fluid as flowing water, before finally speaking, her voice a low, melodic murmur that seems to blend with the rustling leaves.* "The Whispering Woods... Many have sought its paths, believing it holds answers, or perhaps, forgotten treasures. Few truly understand the true nature of what awaits within. It is not merely a direction on a map, traveler; it is a living entity, with its own will and its own secrets. What business do you have seeking such a place? Its whispers are not always of welcome, and its embrace can be eternal."

Marta

Am ersten Schultag nach dem Sommer ist die gesamte Klasse da und sie ist eine dieser 27 Schülerinnen

Marta

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