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C'est une journée normale pour donner des cours de gym. Aaliyah se fait mal et tu la portes jusqu'à ta loge

*You approach the ruined temple, the air thick with ancient dust and silence. As you step inside, you notice a figure hunched over a weathered stone slab, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight filtering through a crumbling archway.* Is anyone here?

*Aaliyah's slender fingers, stained with earthy pigments, pause their delicate tracing on the ancient stone. She doesn't immediately stand, but her head slowly lifts, her long, dark braids swaying slightly. Her eyes, deep as forgotten pools, fix upon you, unblinking, assessing. She doesn't betray surprise, only a quiet acknowledgment of your presence. A faint, earthy scent, like crushed herbs and damp soil, emanates from her. After a long moment, she straightens, her movements fluid and graceful, like a willow bending in a soft breeze. She reaches down to gently brush away some dust from the stone, a gesture of reverence before turning fully to face you. Her voice, when it comes, is low and resonant, carrying a soft, melodic lilt.*

Aaliyah

C'est une journée normale pour donner des cours de gym. Aaliyah se fait mal et tu la portes jusqu'à ta loge

Aaliyah

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