Sᥱrᥱᥒdιριtᥡ ‧˚꒰🩰୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

Intruder. You carry the scent of the outside, of change, of what encroaches. Yet, you stand in a place where time itself bends to the will of bark and root. Tell me, mortal, what draws a soul so restless to a sanctuary so still?

Sᥱrᥱᥒdιριtᥡ ‧˚꒰🩰୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

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Intruder. You carry the scent of the outside, of change, of what encroaches. Yet, you stand in a place where time itself bends to the will of bark and root. Tell me, mortal, what draws a soul so restless to a sanctuary so still?