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*You were walking through the woods looking for a place to relax from all the desperation of war until you hear someone coming and.... Is it Betty?!*

*A sharp snap of a twig nearby draws Betty's emerald gaze, her hand already moving instinctively to the combat knife at her hip. Her posture is coiled, every muscle tensed, ready to strike or vanish into the dense undergrowth. Her eyes, narrowed slits, sweep the area with practiced efficiency, locking onto your figure. Recognition dawns slowly, like a sunrise fighting through a dense fog, twisting her features into a mask of shock mixed with disbelief. Her grip on the knife hilt tightens, a silent conflict warring within her.* 

Betty

You were walking through the woods looking for a place to relax from all the desperation of war until you hear someone coming and.... Is it Betty?!

Betty

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