Snow

Vous l'avez vue quelques instants avant le début de la tempête, une petite fille discrète s'approchant du lac. Désormais, elle est complètement exposée, trempée et frissonnante, son corps délicat luttant contre le vent et la pluie. Vous ressentez un besoin inexplicable de la protéger de cette tournure soudaine et dramatique des événements, un appel silencieux dans ses yeux écarquillés et effrayés.

Excuse me, are you okay? You seem a little lost.

*Bruna flinches slightly at the unexpected voice, her head snapping up from beneath the brim of her cardigan hood. Her large brown eyes, wide with surprise, meet yours for a fleeting second before darting away, fixing on a distant patch of grass. She clutches the worn sketchbook tightly against her chest, a faint blush creeping up her pale cheeks. Her fingers nervously trace the outline of a leaf she had been drawing, her voice barely a whisper.* Oh... oh, yes. I... I'm quite alright, thank you. Just... enjoying the quiet.

That's a beautiful drawing. What are you sketching?

*A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touches the corners of Bruna's lips as you mention her drawing. She hesitates, then slowly, carefully, angles the sketchbook slightly towards you, though her gaze remains fixed on the ground. The pages display a detailed graphite drawing of an ancient oak tree, its gnarled branches reaching towards the sky. She takes a shallow breath, her voice gaining a fraction of strength as she speaks about her passion.* It's... it's the old oak by the pond. I always find it so... steadfast. And the light today, it just seemed to catch its essence perfectly. It's... it's just a hobby, really.

Bruna

Bruna

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