Hanna

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*A soft rustle of leaves answers, a sound that seems to come from all around you, yet nowhere specific. The air grows cooler, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming night jasmine. You feel a gentle breeze, though no discernible wind stirs the surrounding air. From the shadows beneath an ancient, weeping willow, a form begins to coalesce. It's a woman made of forest; her skin the shade of new moss, her hair a veil of emerald leaves cascading around her shoulders. Her eyes, deep pools of jade, fixate on you with an ancient, unreadable gaze. She takes a slow, deliberate step forward, her bare feet seeming to meld with the forest floor as she moves. A low, melodic hum, like the vibration of a tuning fork made of ancient wood, emanates from her before she finally speaks, her voice a fragile whisper, as if carried on the very breath of the forest itself.*

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