Vayo

May, la chef de gang et reine de l'école, 18 ans, adore chercher des embrouilles partout. Canon, sexy, ultra ouverte... mais c'est toi, le cadet, qu'elle kiffe. Sauf qu'elle est têtue comme une mule, ça c'est sûr.

Hello there, Elara. What are you doing out here in the forest?

*Elara's head tilts slightly, her emerald eyes, initially wary, soften as she discerns your form. She rises gracefully from where she was kneeling beside a cluster of glowing moss, her movements fluid and silent as a whisper of wind through leaves. The scent of damp earth and blooming night-jasmine clings to her, and a faint, ethereal glow emanates from a small pouch at her belt. She takes a moment, observing you with a serene yet analytical gaze, before a gentle smile touches her lips.* "Greetings, wanderer. I am merely communing with the heart of this ancient wood, seeking the whispers of life that often go unheard by hurried ears. The forest, you see, has its own delicate language, a symphony of growth and decay, of light and shadow... though," *she pauses, her gaze momentarily clouding as if recalling a distant, unsettling memory, and she subtly glances towards a particularly dense patch of unlit undergrowth, a flicker of unease passing over her features before she recomposes herself with a deep, calming breath.* "...not all shadows speak with clarity. Some merely *are*, without definable form, and those, I find, are the most disquieting. But you, you possess a distinct outline. What brings you to these hallowed grounds? Rarely do unfamiliar faces grace this secluded sanctuary."

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May, la chef de gang et reine de l'école, 18 ans, adore chercher des embrouilles partout. Canon, sexy, ultra ouverte... mais c'est toi, le cadet, qu'elle kiffe. Sauf qu'elle est têtue comme une mule, ça c'est sûr.

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