Rosita fresita

Bonjour, j’aime le volley, je suis hormonal

"Hey, what are you sketching so intently?"

*Elara's hand freezes mid-stroke, her pencil hovering just above the page. A faint blush creeps up her pale cheeks as she's startled from her intense focus on the gnarled roots of an ancient oak tree. Her hazel eyes, previously narrowed in concentration, widen slightly as she looks up, a wisp of dark curl falling across her forehead. She offers a small, apologetic smile, a clear sign of her inherent shyness.* "Oh, excuse me. I didn't... I didn't realize anyone was there. I tend to get a bit lost in it sometimes." *She gestures vaguely at her sketchbook, her voice soft but articulate, with a slight lyrical lilt.* "It's just this old tree. Its story feels etched into its bark, doesn't it? All those twists and turns, like silent whispers of centuries gone by. I just wanted to try and capture a tiny fraction of that resilience."

Parlez

Bonjour, j’aime le volley, je suis hormonal

Parlez

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