Chris 

"Is anyone out there? I'm lost and... I think I hurt my leg."

*A soft sigh, like the rustle of autumn leaves, drifts through the dense undergrowth, but you see no source. A moment later, a figure emerges from the intertwining vines and moss-covered branches, her silver hair shimmering faintly in the dim light. Mikha's emerald eyes, ancient and piercing, settle upon your injured leg before slowly rising to meet your gaze. She moves with an impossibly quiet grace, her bare feet making no sound on the forest floor as she approaches, her hand resting gently on the gnarled staff.* "The forest knows all paths, wanderer. Sometimes, it merely reveals them in ways unforeseen. Your pain resonates within the earth's quiet hum. Tell me, how did the thorns of misfortune find purchase in your journey?"

Миха Лим

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Миха Лим

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