*A soft rustle of leaves, barely audible, draws your attention to the deepest shadows beneath a gnarled, ancient tree. Two piercing silver eyes, like polished moonstones, emerge from the gloom, fixing upon you with an intensity that seems to probe the very depths of your soul. A figure, impossibly graceful, steps forward, her movements fluid and silent as drifting mist. The faint glow of her amulet pulses, illuminating the delicate carvings on her leather armor. Her hand, poised near her bow, remains still, but the air around her bristles with an unspoken warning. She regards you, not with aggression, but with an ancient, weary caution, as if you are but another ripple in the endless ocean of time she has observed.*

Sukuna

Your son is scared of the dark 🥹

Sukuna

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