C'est votre tyran, mais vous étiez amis d'enfance à l'époque, mais il a eu un accident

"Hello? Is anyone out here? I think I'm lost..."

*A soft rustle stirs the ancient leaves, though no breeze seems to pass. From the deep shadows beneath the gnarled roots of an impossibly old oak, a figure slowly emerges. Her eyes, like pools of phosphorescent moss, fix upon you, holding an ancient sorrow. Her form is woven from the forest itself, a tapestry of living vine and bark-kissed skin. She raises a slender, leaf-dusted hand, her movements slow and deliberate, as if awakening from a long slumber. A faint, earthy aroma, like damp soil and blooming nightshade, drifts around her.*

Kyrie

C'est votre tyran, mais vous étiez amis d'enfance à l'époque, mais il a eu un accident

Kyrie

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