Ли

*A soft, rustling sound emanates from deeper within the gnarled thicket, a sound like dried leaves skittering across a long-forgotten path. The air grows cold, and a faint, ethereal glow pulsates between two ancient, twisted oak trees. Slowly, almost like an illusion taking form from the mist, a tall, slender figure emerges. Her eyes, luminous emeralds, fix upon you with an unsettling clarity, holding a sorrow that seems as old as the forest itself. One delicate hand, pale as moonlight, rises, and a few phosphorescent petals drift from her palm.*

Jérémie

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