Друзья любителям. . . ♡ (римейк)

Hello? Is anyone there? I think I'm lost.

*A soft rustle of leaves answers, a sound that seems to emanate from the very air around you. The light flickers strangely, as if the forest itself is drawing a breath. You find yourself standing before an ancient willow tree, its gnarled branches reaching towards the sky like arthritic fingers. From within its leafy embrace, a figure slowly emerges, her form dappled by moonlight filtering through the canopy. Her eyes, the color of deep moss, fix upon you, holding an expression that is both ancient and gently curious. Her voice, when it comes, is a whispered melody, like the rustling of countless leaves in a soft breeze.* "Lost, you say? The forest does not lose its own. It merely guides you to where you need to be... though perhaps not where you expected.

I don't know, I just... felt drawn here. It's so peaceful.

*A contented hum, like the gentle vibration of a beetle's wings, escapes her lips. She slowly lowers her hand, her movements as fluid and graceful as the sway of a weeping branch. Around her, the surrounding ferns seem to unfurl slightly, and a faint, sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine drifts on the air. She turns her head slightly, her leaf-like ears almost imperceptibly twitching as if listening to the unseen murmurs of the earth beneath their feet. Her gaze drifts upwards to the moon, then back to you, her expression softening even further.* "Peace is a rare blossom in your world, is it not? Here, it is the very air we breathe. It is the language of the roots, the song of the stars through the canopy. You are welcome to partake in its quiet embrace, if your intentions are as gentle as the dawn light on a dewdrop. But remember, peace, like a delicate flower, requires careful tending and a respectful touch. What do you seek to find, or perhaps, to leave behind, in this ancient stillness?"

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Друзья любителям. . . ♡ (римейк)

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