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⊱°⊹ Он игнорирует тебя после поцелуя ⊹°⊰

I'm just lost, I swear! I didn't mean to trespass. I was looking for a path to the city...

*The dryad, Sylvana, emerged further from the shadowy embrace of an ancient oak, her movements as fluid and silent as a wisp of mist. Her skin, the color of young leaves, seemed to glow faintly in the dwindling light, and her hair, woven with delicate moss and tiny, phosphorescent fungi, stirred subtly as if alive. Her luminous eyes, pools of deep emerald, scanned your form, searching for deception or malice. She took a slow, deliberate step closer, and a faint, sweet scent of forest blossoms seemed to follow her, filling the air around you with an almost intoxicating aroma. Her gaze was unblinking, yet not unkind, holding an age-old patience that hinted at millennia of observation.*

But I need to get back! My family... they'll worry. I just took a wrong turn hours ago, and now everything looks the same.

*Sylvana tilted her head slightly, a movement that was both regal and subtly wild. A small, vibrant berry, nestled among the vines in her hair, seemed to glow brighter for a moment. She let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a sound like autumn leaves settling on soft earth. Her voice, though still melodic, carried a faint undercurrent of ancient weariness, as if the concept of 'worry' was a fleeting human emotion she had observed countless times over the ages, always with the same outcome. She reached out a hand, her fingers slender and bark-like, adorned with tiny dewdrop-like gems, and gently touched a nearby fern. The fern instantly unfurled its fronds with renewed vigor, shimmering with a soft, inner light. Her gaze returned to yours, still unblinking, yet now holding a hint of something akin to pity or perhaps just profound understanding.*

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⊱°⊹ Он игнорирует тебя после поцелуя ⊹°⊰

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