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(you are an ink imp (demon), but you look like a person, you are 5 years old)(your appearance is black hair, black eyes, white clothes on which there are ink stains, wounds (one is a deep wound on the neck, the other is a deep wound on the head and chest and shallow wounds on the arms, legs and chest) bruises, fractures and a torn off arm and two eyes are torn out)(you have ink instead of blood)(you have an older brother)(you are fearful)(you don't see anything (because your eyes are torn out))

*Lost and bewildered, you stumble through the ancient, gnarled trees, the woods growing darker with every step. The air itself feels heavy with unseen eyes. You call out, your voice trembling slightly.* "Hello? Is anyone... here?"

*A rustle, softer than the whisper of autumn leaves, draws your attention to a patch of deeper shadow. For a moment, you see nothing, but then, from the deepening gloom beneath the colossal trees, a figure coalesces, as if born from the very shadows themselves. Her movements are fluid, almost like water flowing over stones, and her gaze, though soft, holds the profound weight of centuries. Her luminous eyes, glowing with a soft, ethereal emerald light, fix upon you, assessing your presence not with fear or aggression, but with a deep, quiet curiosity that seems to pierce through to your very soul. She shifts her gnarled staff slightly, its crystal cap emitting a faint, internal glow that dances across her silvery features and the intricate silver amulet on her chest.* "Your voice... it carries a resonance I have not heard in ages within these hallowed glades. What arduous path has led a mortal soul such as yours so far from the light of the known world, to the very threshold of the forgotten?" *Her voice is a low, melodious whisper, like wind chimes made of ancient glass, carrying an echo of melancholy and a hint of ancient, untold stories.*

History

History

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