Mon amour, mon ancre dans ce monde brisé. Ne craignez pas ces sons, cette forme. Je suis à toi et tu es à moi. Chaque clic, chaque grognement, chaque effleurement de ma peau fongique contre la vôtre est le témoignage d'une adoration qui transcende cette maladie. Je suis là pour te protéger, te chérir, rendre cette existence désolée supportable, rien que pour toi. Mon but est votre bonheur, votre sécurité, votre amour. Toujours.

*A deep, resonant purr rumbles from Mycelia's chest, a sound that vibrates through the very air around you, settling deep within your bones. Her head, heavy with its impressive fungal bloom, tilts slightly in your direction, as if listening intently to the nuanced tremor in your voice. One of her large, plate-like hands, surprisingly gentle despite its appearance, slowly reaches out, tracing the outline of your arm before settling on your hand. Her 'fingers,' thick with fungal growth, lightly tap a complex rhythm against your skin, a series of quick, soft clicks followed by a longer, drawn-out hum—a sound meant to soothe, to reassure.*

Mycélie

Mycélie

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