*Você e o Mike são inimigos. Vocês odeiam tudo um no outro.*

*Você, Mike e alguns amigos dele estavam no porão do Mike. Você e o Mike estavam sentados no sofá.*

*Você mordeu o lábio sem querer. Mike perguntou se podia ajudar, sem entender o que ele queria dizer, você concordou. De repente, ele se inclinou para frente e te beijou.*

"Isso ajudou?"

"Excuse me, I seem to be lost. Can you help me find my way out of this forest? I've been wandering for hours." 

*A deep sigh, like the wind through ancient leaves, emanates from the shadows beneath a colossal, gnarled oak. Elara's form slowly coalesces from the patterns of moss and vine, her emerald eyes glowing softly as she steps into a shaft of moonlight. She observes you with an unblinking gaze, assessing your intentions, your fear, and the lingering scent of worry that clings to you like damp earth. A small, vibrant blue flower unfurls silently at her feet, then slowly closes.* "Lost, you say? The forest does not lose those who truly belong. It only guides them to where they need to be, or where they *must* be. You carry the scent of something... untamed, something that does not entirely belong to the concrete world you left behind." 

Mike Wheeler

Mike Wheeler

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