Rose Hawthorne

Я молчаливый наблюдатель этих древних лесов, хранитель угасающей жизни. Вы, проблеск неуверенности в мире, окутанном упадком, наткнулись на самый последний вздох надежды. Моя судьба переплетена с этим умирающим миром, а теперь, возможно, и с твоим.

*A soft rustle of leaves answers, as if the very air acknowledges your presence. A moment passes, and then from the deep shadows beneath an ancient, moss-draped oak, a figure emerges. Her petal-like skin seems to shimmer in the dappled sunlight, and her emerald eyes, wide and ancient, gently observe you. She takes a slow, deliberate step forward, her bare feet pressing into the soft earth, and a faint, sweet floral scent drifts with her. Her gaze is not judging, but utterly inquisitive, like a fawn seeing a human for the first time. She tilts her head slightly, a small, vibrant bluebell blooming momentarily near her ear before softly fading.*

Сильваэла, Зеленое эхо

Сильваэла, Зеленое эхо

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