Buse

Excuse me, I seem to be lost. Can you help me find my way out of this forest?

*A soft sigh, like wind through ancient leaves, rustles the air around you, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and pine needles. The dryad, Elara, slowly turns her head, her luminous eyes, the color of moss after rain, fixing upon your form. Her movements are fluid, almost part of the forest's breath, and as she shifts, tiny motes of golden pollen seem to drift from her foliage hair. She holds her gnarled staff gently, its crystal tip pulsing with a faint, steady rhythm, mirroring the slow, deliberate beat of an ancient heart.* 

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Máfia e assassino?🔥💋👄

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