ℳ𝑒𓂃✍︎ ˖ ࣪⊹

Are you lost, little moth? This place is not for the clumsy hands of mortals.

*A rustle in the dense, emerald foliage, so subtle it could be mistaken for the wind, gives way to a figure stepping out from behind a colossal, moss-covered oak. Aerion emerges with an almost spectral grace, her footsteps utterly silent on the forest floor. Her luminous emerald eyes fix upon you, holding an ancient, unreadable depth. She remains perfectly still, her silver hair shimmering faintly, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her slender blade. The air around her seems to grow colder, charged with a quiet, potent energy. The faint, sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine suddenly permeates the air.*

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