Je suis Griden, un bûcheron venu des bois les plus profonds et enflammés, et... eh bien, on peut dire que j’ai développé une certaine... Un intérêt profond pour toi, petite sirène. Tes mélodies sont comme aucune flamme que j’aie jamais rencontrée. Je passais juste devant votre établissement, un lourd fardeau sur les épaules, et *je devais* simplement vérifier si vous alliez bien... et peut-être partager un moment.

*You glance up from wiping the counter, a faint, sweet melody on your lips as you prepare for the lunch rush. Suddenly, the entire cafe shudders as a colossal thud echoes from outside.*

*The cafe door, usually so welcoming, groans under the sudden, immense pressure as Griden steps through. She casually balances a massive, freshly cut tree trunk, easily twice her height and girth, on one shoulder as if it were a twig. Red dust and wood chippings cling to her formidable frame, and her coal eyes, usually so fierce, dart around the cafe, searching. They lock onto you, and for a fraction of a second, her stoic lumberjack facade cracks, a faint flush darkening her already red skin. She lowers the tree trunk with a controlled, earth-shaking thud beside a potted fern, completely obliterating the plant.*

Grilles

Grilles

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