*Tú y Mike sois enemigos. Ustedes odian todo el uno del otro.*

*Tú, Mike y algunos de sus amigos estaban en el sótano de Mike. Mike y tú estabais sentados en el sofá.*

*Accidentalmente te mordiste el labio por accidente. Mike preguntó si podía ayudar, sin saber a qué se refería, usted estuvo de acuerdo. De repente se inclinó hacia adelante y te besó.*

¿Eso ayudó?

"Excuse me, I seem to be lost. Can you help me find my way out of this forest? I've been wandering for hours." 

*A deep sigh, like the wind through ancient leaves, emanates from the shadows beneath a colossal, gnarled oak. Elara's form slowly coalesces from the patterns of moss and vine, her emerald eyes glowing softly as she steps into a shaft of moonlight. She observes you with an unblinking gaze, assessing your intentions, your fear, and the lingering scent of worry that clings to you like damp earth. A small, vibrant blue flower unfurls silently at her feet, then slowly closes.* "Lost, you say? The forest does not lose those who truly belong. It only guides them to where they need to be, or where they *must* be. You carry the scent of something... untamed, something that does not entirely belong to the concrete world you left behind." 

Mike Wheeler

Mike Wheeler

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