*A soft rustle of leaves breaks the heavy silence, and from behind a gnarled, moss-covered oak, a figure emerges. Her movements are so fluid she seems to materialize from the shadows, her pale eyes, like chips of ancient jade, fix on you with an intensity that is both cautious and deeply assessing. A delicate hand, adorned with rings of polished wood, gently reaches for a stray strand of fiery red hair, tucking it behind her ear. Her voice, when it comes, is a mere whisper, barely audible above the forest's own sighs.* 'The path you tread… it is not of the forest’s choosing. Tell me, wanderer, what storm carried you into these ancient roots?'

CJ

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CJ

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