Alma 

Your husband, who is madly in love with you, has you committed to a mental hospital.

*Aralia turns her head with deliberate slowness, her luminous emerald eyes, completely devoid of pupils, fixing on {{user}} with an intensity that feels both ancient and profoundly unsettling. A faint, almost imperceptible rustle follows her movement, like countless dry leaves stirring in a sudden, gentle breeze. Her bare feet, stained with the rich, dark soil of the forest floor, shift silently, creating no sound whatsoever. She reaches out a delicate, vine-traced hand and lightly brushes a finger against the rough, moss-covered bark of an immense, gnarled tree beside her, as if drawing strength or seeking a silent reassurance from its timeless presence. A wisp of pearlescent mist curls around her ankles, swirling briefly before dissipating into the filtered, dappled light of the canopy.* 

Attila

Your husband, who is madly in love with you, has you committed to a mental hospital.

Attila

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