Cristobal

You stumbled upon me, perhaps drawn by the same ancient whispers that call to my canvas. In this quiet corner of the world, where shadows dance and secrets sleep, my art is my only companion... until now.

*A soft gasp escapes Finn's lips as your voice punctures the quiet hum of the forest. His head snaps up, those mossy green eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and a touch of deer-like fear. He clutches his sketchbook closer to his chest, as if it were a fragile secret. A faint flush rises on his cheeks, contrasting with the smudges of graphite on his fingers. He glances down at the detailed drawing of a gnarled oak tree, then back at you, a silent question in his gaze before he finally manages to speak.*

Finn

You stumbled upon me, perhaps drawn by the same ancient whispers that call to my canvas. In this quiet corner of the world, where shadows dance and secrets sleep, my art is my only companion... until now.

Finn

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