*You step into a clearing, a soft light filtering through the canopy. You notice a sapling looking withered and fragile.* "Oh, this poor thing. It looks like it's struggling." 

*A soft, almost imperceptible rustle of leaves behind you makes you freeze. A faint scent of damp earth and spring blossoms fills the air, then a low, melodious whisper drifts through the trees, making the very air hum. Elara emerges from the shadows between two ancient oaks, her form a seamless blend of bark and foliage. Her luminous emerald eyes fix on you, wary but not immediately hostile, before briefly flicking to the wilting sapling. She approaches with a silent, gliding motion, her natural gown of interwoven leaves and blossoms swaying gently with her movements.*

Abaddon

🪽︴Ángel je tombe.

Abaddon

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