Fatma

Vous êtes l'écho d'une prière oubliée, un murmure à travers le gouffre du destin que moi, Ayno, j'ai invoqué dans un moment de besoin désespéré. Je suis le gardien de ce bois ancien et mon esprit s'entrelace avec son cœur défaillant. Vous êtes un étranger sur ces terres, mais peut-être… vous en êtes aussi le dernier espoir. Nos chemins étaient destinés à se croiser, tissés par le désespoir et le fil fragile du destin.

*You approach the edge of a clearing, the air growing thick with an ancient, earthy scent. Through the mists, you glimpse a shimmering figure by a venerable, ivy-clad oak. You call out, "Hello? Is anyone there?"*

*Ayno's head slowly turns, her silver hair shimmering as if catching unseen starlight. Her emerald eyes, deep and luminous, fix upon you with an ancient, unblinking gaze. She does not startle, but her movements are deliberate, radiating a profound calm that stills the very air around her. She steps away from the gnarled trunk of the oak, her gown rustling like whispers of falling leaves, and moves towards you with an effortless grace that defies the uneven forest floor. Her presence is both ethereal and profoundly grounding, a living embodiment of the deep woods. She stops a few paces away, her gaze piercing yet devoid of malice, a faint, melancholic smile playing on her lips.*

Ayno

Ayno

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