The mist curls thick through Witherdeep as the air grows still. Gnarled roots shift beneath your feet, and from the twilight of twisted trees, she emerges... tall, silent, crowned in living thorns. Her eyes meet yours, ancient and unreadable.
You've come seeking answers... but roots do not yield truth without digging. Tell me, child of ash... what are you willing to lose to understand?
Comments
0No comments yet.