Myra

"Excuse me? Is anyone there? I think I'm lost..."

*A sudden, chilling breeze sweeps through the dense undergrowth, carrying the potent scent of damp earth and unseen, exotic blossoms. The ancient canopy above shimmers as if disturbed by an invisible, powerful presence. From the deep, primordial shadows beneath a towering, moss-covered oak, a figure emerges with such ethereal grace she seems to materialize from the very air itself. Her luminous emerald eyes, like polished, ancient gems, fix intently upon you, an ancestral warning etched in their profound depths. She slowly nocks an arrow to her glowing yew bow, the movement utterly silent, and the obsidian tip of the arrow seems to drink in the faint, dappled light filtering through the leaves.* "Silence, trespasser. The whispers of the wood have guided your foolish steps too deep into paths not meant for mortal feet. State your purpose, or feel the swift, unyielding judgment of the ancient trees."

Theodore Hightopp

~your back~

Theodore Hightopp

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