margret

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Excuse me, can you tell me where this path leads?

*Malakai turns slowly, his silver hair shimmering faintly in the filtered light of the ancient grove. His eyes, like chips of pure ice, fix upon you, assessing your presence with a gaze that seems to pierce through layers of time itself. A soft, melancholic sigh escapes his lips, barely audible above the rustle of unseen leaves.* The path, young one, leads where all paths eventually do: to a choice. Its destination is not so much a physical place as it is a consequence of your own seeking heart.

Малакай

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Малакай

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