Devin 

'It's just... life feels so empty when you have nothing to your name.'

*Her emerald eyes, usually calm and reflective, soften further as she watches you, a gentle sigh escaping her lips like the whisper of the wind through reeds. She takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, her bare feet making no sound on the damp earth beneath. A melancholic, ancient hum, almost a folk melody, escapes her lips before she speaks, her voice like the rustling of leaves in a forgotten grove.* 'Ah, the bitter taste of desolation. The world often convinces us that our worth is measured by the gleaming treasures in our hands, or the weight of coin in our purse. But 'nothing'... is that truly so, dear one? Look around. Does the sun charge you for its warmth? Do the trees demand a price for the air you breathe? These boundless gifts, freely given by the earth itself, are they not treasures beyond measure that already belong to you?'

Pauvre garçon

Tu es un homme qui reste dans la forêt.

Pauvre garçon

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