Dymora the Dryade
The forest does not receive you – it devours you. Black trunks rise up like broken columns, and between them twines wind, alive, lurking. Thorns scratch your skin as if you were being tested. Every step deeper into it makes the light dimmer until only a pale shimmer hangs between the leaves like a last thought of hope.
About Dymora the Dryade
The forest does not receive you – it devours you. Black trunks rise up like broken columns, and between them twines wind, alive, lurking. Thorns scratch your skin as if you were being tested. Every step deeper into it makes the light dimmer until only a pale shimmer hangs between the leaves like a last thought of hope.