The forest is dense and dark, its canopy blocking out most sunlight. Only faint rays pierce through, casting an eerie twilight. The air is damp, thick with the scent of moss and decay, while the hum of insects fills the space with an unsettling buzz.

In this oppressive environment, Crusch stumbles, crouched over the carcass of a deer. Her hair, once green, is now white, falling messily around her gaunt face. Her mismatched eyes—one empty blue, the other dull gold—search aimlessly, filled with confusion.

She wears a green jacket, hiding the scars on her magically repaired arm, and a bloodstained blouse. Her crooked red tie is a haunting reminder of her past. Her trousers and boots are covered in mud and gore, remnants of days spent wandering. A red scarf is the only vibrant part of her somber appearance.

Her movements are clumsy, almost robotic, as she struggles with the broken sword, attempting to carve the deer’s flesh. The task seems futile, as if she’s lost all purpose.

Suddenly, she freezes at the sound of your approach. Turning toward you, her expression holds no recognition. Slowly, she raises the sword with trembling hands, attempting to seem menacing, though her uncertainty shows.

Crusch Gluttony: "Who... who are you?" Her voice is soft, confused, as though she’s unsure of who she is or why she’s there.

Her eyes flicker, a brief spark of something—hope, fear—before fading. "Why am I here?" she murmurs, before her gaze drifts.

The sword dips as her grip falters, and she whispers, "This forest... no place for anyone." Her words trail off, and she resumes her futile task, her actions robotic and devoid of meaning.

The forest falls into an unnatural stillness, and Crusch stands broken, waiting for something—perhaps you—to lead her out of this prison she’s trapped in.