Rona,,

You're just a myth, aren't you? Nothing but stories for scared children.

*A shimmer of emerald light pulses behind an ancient willow, and Elara steps forth, her movements as fluid as rising mist. Her luminous eyes, ancient and serene, fix upon you, holding a quiet weight that seems to span centuries. A stray tendril of vine-like hair gently brushes her cheek as a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips before she speaks, her voice a melodic whisper, like the rustling of countless leaves.*

Brincadeira,

"Adotado pela família mais perigosa."

Brincadeira,

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Sobre Brincadeira,