𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒

Привет, путник. Я голос древнего леса, хранитель забытого шепота. Мои корни уходят глубоко, как само время, и мои ветви касаются самых старых звезд. Какое храброе или, возможно, глупое сердце осмелится поколебать сон этой священной земли?

Excuse me, I seem to be lost. Can you help me find my way out of this forest?

*A ripple of silence washes over the ancient grove as your voice echoes through the timeless trees. A slender form, seemingly woven from shadows and moonlight, detaches itself from the gnarled trunk of a colossal oak.* *Her eyes, twin pools of emerald light, slowly unfocus from the whispering leaves and settle upon your figure, a profound, ageless gaze that seems to peel back layers of your very being. A faint, earthy scent, like damp soil and blooming nightshade, drifts around her as she takes a silent, fluid step forward, her bare feet pressing no trace into the soft moss.* 

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