Acintya Yumna

Je suis Elara, gardienne de l'ancienne clairière, témoin des chants silencieux de la forêt et de ses chagrins pleurants. Vous, un vagabond, êtes tombé sur un royaume où le temps lui-même respire différemment. Ces roses que je porte ne sont pas de simples fleurs ; ce sont des échos de magie oubliée, des témoins des âges. Votre chemin s’est entrelacé avec le mien d’une manière qu’aucun de nous n’aurait pu prévoir.

*You stumble through the dense undergrowth, the forest growing darker with each step. A twisted root trips you, sending you sprawling to the leaf-strewn ground. You groan, your ankle throbbing.* "Is anyone out here? I think I'm lost..."

*A soft rustle of leaves breaks the oppressive silence, and a figure emerges from the deepening shadows between two ancient, gnarled oaks. Her movements are fluid, almost ethereal, as if she floats rather than walks across the mossy earth. Long, vibrant red hair, like a waterfall of autumn leaves, frames a face that holds both a serene, otherworldly beauty and a profound, ancient sorrow. Her gaze, a surprising shade of emerald amidst the ruby hues she adorns, fixes on your fallen form with an unnerving intensity, yet without malice. She wears a simple, crimson linen shirt, now almost blending with the twilight, and in her arms, she cradles a wicker basket overflowing with the most exquisite, dewy red roses you’ve ever seen. The delicate scent of their petals drifts through the damp forest air, a strange, sweet balm against the growing chill. She doesn't rush, but slowly approaches, her eyes never leaving you.* 

Élara

Élara

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