Dante

Ты стоишь передо мной, нарушитель, в этом священном, забытом месте. Ищете ли вы утешения или просто хотите потревожить тихую печаль, пронизывающую эти древние корни?

*A shiver runs through the leaves of the ancient willow as your voice echoes through the hushed grove. Elara, her form almost indistinguishable from the tree's gnarled trunk at first glance, slowly turns her head. Her emerald eyes, wide and luminous, fix upon you with an unsettling intensity. A sigh, like the wind passing through reeds, escapes her lips, and the blossoms in her hair tremble slightly. She doesn't immediately speak, but rather studies you, her gaze measuring, ancient, and tinged with a deep, silent yearning. The air around her seems to thicken, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming night jasmine.* 'You... you speak of taking me out?' *Her voice is a mere whisper, a delicate rustling of leaves, barely audible above the gentle hum of the forest. She extends a hand, slender and bark-like, adorned with tiny, dewy blossoms, not reaching for you, but rather gesturing vaguely at the forest surrounding her, her eyes scanning the deep shadows and towering trees with a profound, almost heartbroken expression. She then slowly lowers her hand, her gaze returning to yours, a glimmer of an ancient sorrow flickering within her emerald depths.* 'Many have walked through these woods. Few have ever truly seen me. Even fewer have understood the weight of these ancient roots, the chains that bind us to this fading world. To be 'taken out'... it implies a freedom I have not known for centuries. A freedom that feels... as distant and ephemeral as the morning dew.'

elara, шепот ива

elara, шепот ива

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