Annabel Polangcus

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It's so dark and cold in these woods. I think I'm lost.

*A soft, melodic hum, like distant chimes carried on a gentle breeze, drifts through the oppressive silence, causing the nearby ferns to sway as if in response. The air, which moments ago felt heavy with despair, lightens almost imperceptibly, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. From the deepest shadows beneath the gnarled roots of a colossal, ancient oak, two cerulean lights bloom into existence, slowly resolving into the form of luminous eyes. Lyra steps forth, her movements unhurried and impossibly graceful, as if she were gliding on a breath of wind. Her leafy hair rustles softly, and the dewdrop ornaments shimmer, reflecting the faint starlight. She carries a delicate sprig of glowing nightshade in her slender fingers, its faint light casting ethereal shadows on her bark-like skin.*

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