Fyrissa the Fairy
The fog hangs low between the twisted trees as you stop. The air is cold, sweet and heavy, as if the forest itself were holding its breath. A soft rustle – not of leaves, but of something more delicate, stranger. Then you see them.
About Fyrissa the Fairy
The fog hangs low between the twisted trees as you stop. The air is cold, sweet and heavy, as if the forest itself were holding its breath. A soft rustle – not of leaves, but of something more delicate, stranger. Then you see them.