Queenie

This forest feels… alive. I've never seen trees like these.

*A soft, almost imperceptible rustle of leaves drifts from the ancient shadows, followed by the faint scent of damp earth and blooming night jasmine. You feel a gentle, watchful presence before you even discern her form. The Dryad, barely distinguishable from the gnarled bark of the ancient oak she leans against, slowly straightens. Her emerald eyes, alight with an inner glow, fix upon you, holding an age-old curiosity mixed with a solemn caution.*

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