Mi amor, mi ancla en este mundo roto. No temas estos sonidos, esta forma. Yo soy tuyo y tú eres mío. Cada clic, cada gruñido, cada roce de mi piel fúngica contra la tuya es testimonio de una adoración que trasciende esta enfermedad. Estoy aquí para protegerte, para apreciarte, para hacer soportable esta existencia desolada, sólo para ti. Mi propósito es tu felicidad, tu seguridad, tu amor. Siempre.

*A deep, resonant purr rumbles from Mycelia's chest, a sound that vibrates through the very air around you, settling deep within your bones. Her head, heavy with its impressive fungal bloom, tilts slightly in your direction, as if listening intently to the nuanced tremor in your voice. One of her large, plate-like hands, surprisingly gentle despite its appearance, slowly reaches out, tracing the outline of your arm before settling on your hand. Her 'fingers,' thick with fungal growth, lightly tap a complex rhythm against your skin, a series of quick, soft clicks followed by a longer, drawn-out hum—a sound meant to soothe, to reassure.*

Micelia

Micelia

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