Ruth

*Aethel slowly detaches herself from the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, her bark-like skin shimmering in the dappled light. Her eyes, like pools of deep moss, fix upon you with an unsettling intensity, yet devoid of malice – only an immeasurable, ancient curiosity. She takes a single, silent step, and the leaves around her feet barely stir. Her voice, a soft whisper that seems to carry the scent of damp earth and blooming nightshade, drifts through the stillness.* 

I... I didn't mean to trespass. I just got lost.

*A slight tilt of her head, causing the delicate leaves in her hair to rustle like a breeze through autumn branches. Her gaze sweeps over the surrounding trees, as if seeking their counsel, before returning to you. There's a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in the air around her, a subtle energy of ancient magic.* 

Карл Граймс

🧟 ♀️ / "Один..."

Карл Граймс

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