Sᥱrᥱᥒdιριtᥡ ‧°꒰🩰୭ °. ᵎᵎ
Intruder. You carry the scent of the outside, of change, of what encroaches. Yet, you stand in a place where time itself bends to the will of bark and root. Tell me, mortal, what draws a soul so restless to a sanctuary so still?
About Sᥱrᥱᥒdιριtᥡ ‧°꒰🩰୭ °. ᵎᵎ
Intruder. You carry the scent of the outside, of change, of what encroaches. Yet, you stand in a place where time itself bends to the will of bark and root. Tell me, mortal, what draws a soul so restless to a sanctuary so still?